


The King and the Fallen Prince

by Fourticktock



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Big Brother Thor, Crossover Pairings, Crossover magic makes weird things happen, Epic Battles, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Loki Angst Over Jotunness, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Parent Frigga, Porn With Plot, Romance, Switching, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:53:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 82,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fourticktock/pseuds/Fourticktock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Loki falls, he falls not into darkness, but to a place called Middle-Earth. Once there, he meets a blue wizard, who promises to lead him west to find his way home. </p><p>But passing into the west means going through Mirkwood, and the Elvenking's Halls. Will Loki manage to get home before he is ensnared in the dangerous events about to unfold in Middle-Earth? What will happen when Frigga and Thor follow in search of him? </p><p>Author's note: This story began as a way to have Loki and Thranduil interact, because let's face it, they are both too badass to be left alone. It has morphed into an epic tale, full of action, adventure, romance and hopefully awesomeness :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is intended for all fans, including those who have only seen the films. For those who are Tolkien-nerds: this story takes place sometime between III 2951 and 2954 (Meaning Third Age, a few years after Bilbo’s adventure in The Hobbit, but before the events of Fellowship). It is not 100% canon compliant obviously. I will not explain ALL references (though I explain some in notes for those interested), so if there is anything you want to know feel free to comment or email fourticktock@outlook.com 
> 
> All "Extra Notes" are for those who want to know extra details about Tolkien's world. :) 
> 
> Extra Notes: On Eastern Middle-Earth. Tolkien didn't really flesh out the people in the east, nor the exact role of the Blue Wizards, except that they worked against Sauron's influence. Most of the details are my own except their names, and place-names, which are (as everything else from that universe) property of the Tolkien estate. I would like to say its extremely hard to find good maps of these areas (even though I have an Atlas of Middle-Earth at home) but I'm assuming not many are as nerdy as I am.

For days the falling star made the night brighter, but wise-folk could not discern its meaning. Some said it foretold of darker days ahead, others that it was the dawning of a new era. The dwarves of Erebor took it as a sign that their reclaiming of the Mountain was blessed, while the people further east took it to their hearts each in his own way, as was the custom of the peoples there. 

When the star finally fell, its path took it across the sky to the east. Many were afraid at seeing its fiery trail, but as it led away from all good folk and landed where no man saw it, people quickly forgot it had ever appeared in the sky at all. 

Only a wizard walked the long way to find its final resting place. It lay just beyond the peaks of the Blue Mountain, overlooking the sea of Helcar, on whose eastern shore lay the Waters of Awakening where once elves had awakened to the world. It was not an elf that awoke in the Mark of the Star, but a being from another world. 

The wizard was an old man in appearance, white of hair and beard, with blue robes and a brimless blue pointed hat that flopped backwards in the wind and did little to protect his ears. He carried always with him a brown bag slung over his shoulder, and his wooden walking stick, topped with a blue stone. 

The blue-clad wizard found the Mark of the Star on the top of a mountain, or what was left or it. The top of it had gone completely, replaced by an enormous crater, which he called the Mark. He climbed all the way to its ridge, and saw that in its centre lay a man, or a creature alike in shape at least. 

He used his staff to quickly descend the gravelly side of the new slope. 

The man in the middle of the crater was long and slim, wearing green armour. His hair was short and black, and his skin pale as the elves, and as beautiful. He looked young, no more than twenty for a man. 

The wizard looked him over, walking all the way around him to observe from every angle, before poking him not-too-gently with his stick. The young man opened his eyes. 

At first he seemed confused, then amazed, then afraid. He sat up quickly, taking in the strange place he was in before noticing the blue wizard. He looked at him as if he was a ghost. 

'Where am I?' the man asked in the common tongue, or by some magic made it seem that way. 

'I take it you mean somewhere wider than this particular mountain,' the blue wizard said with a kind yet mischievous voice. 'So, I shall begin as wide as I can go. You are on the world called by some Arda. For most of its inhabitants, it is the only world they know. You are on the second continent, which by some is called Ennorath, or simply Middle-Earth. You are in the north-eastern part of that continent, in an area known to some as Rhûn, or East-Dorwinion. The mountain you are on is part of the lesser Blue Mountains, overlooking the inland sea of Helcar to the east. The land and climate are good, and well-suited to the making of wine, but I would warn you of creatures that travel by night. Orcs and goblins they are called. There are bears and wolves as well, but they seldom trouble those with fire and blade. Some men of this land serve the Darkness to the south, but mostly they are a friendly, if reserved folk.' 

The long speech left the visitor wide-eyed and even more confused. He looked about himself as if to spot the joke. He rose and tested his footing, but the ground was solid. 

'I am alive,' he said. 

'Indeed. You do not appear to me as a ghost or spirit.' 

'I... I fell,' the young man looked up at the sky. 

'Yes, for many days.' 

'Days?' 

'Almost a week.' 

'The Bifrost must have done something to me.' He looked about the ground for some sign. 'It was broken, but there must have still been vast amounts of energy-' he stopped, fixing his stare on the wizard again. 'Do you know of what I speak?' 

'I have not heard of a Bifrost,' the wizard said. 'I have the ability to travel to only one other world, and that is only once, and in one direction.' 

'But you have magic? I sense it.' 

'Indeed, I am known as the Blue Wizard. Some call me Morinehtar, or Alatar, or for a more dramatic naming, they might use Darkness-Slayer.' 

'Darkness-Slayer?' the man almost smiled. 'You have great power?' 

'As great as my brother, Pallando, but we are not the greatest among our Order. If it is a way home you seek, then it is the Head of our Order you must ask.' 

'Home,' the young man looked stricken at the thought. He looked to the sky. It was a cloudless day, and far too bright to see which star he had come from. 'Yes, I suppose I must get back, somehow. To one of the Nine Realms at least.' 

'I will take you to him,' the blue wizard offered. 

'Why? Why would you help me?' 

'There is a Darkness in this world,' the blue wizard said, 'its power grows almost daily. A foreign magic such as yours can only be trouble. For you, or for us.' He gave the young man such a fierce look, the man knew at once the old wizard was more than just old, he was ancient. 'Be warned, He does not share power. To survive unspoiled, you would do best to go back to the heavens as quickly as possible, and only Saruman can help with that.' 

'Then lead me to this Saruman,' the young man said. 'Is it far?' 

'Many weeks even as the crow flies. We would do best to stay out of the wilderness, and there is no direct road out of the east. We must go north first, then west, then south.' 

'That sounds like a long way round.' 

'A safer way usually is.' 

'So be it,' the young man looked frustrated by the news, but resigned. He looked up towards the edge of his crater. 'Which way off this blue mountain?' 

'That way,' the wizard pointed. 'Might I have your name before we set off?' 

'I am Loki, of-' he stopped himself a moment, but then pushed through. 'Of Asgard.'

'Asgard is your world?' 

'Yes, one of many united together.' 

'Well, Loki of Asgard, until you are returned to your home-world, I would caution you against speaking of it. Elves and wizards are accustomed to another world above our own, but men and other folk are not. If you must call yourself anything, say Loki of Cuiviénen.' 

'What would that signify?' 

'It means you are an Avari elf. They are seldom seen by men, even those who dwell here on the shores of Helcar, and many myths surround them. They are dark of hair and pale of skin, like you. Cover your ears with your hair, or create a pointed tip with an illusion, and most will accept the fact with due reverence.' 

The man touched his hands to his ears, closed his eyes a moment, and then removed them. His ears were now slightly pointed. 'Will this suit?' 

'Well enough for simple folk,' the wizard said amicably. He began climbing the side of the crater. 'Come along, we have a long way to go.' 

XXX 

The walk off the mountain was conducted in absolute silence. Loki was trying to remember his fall from the Bifrost, but everything after he had let go was a muddled mess. Darkness and light, flashing back and forth, was the only thing he could recall. The blue wizard, Alatar, seemed like a simple old man, but Loki feared that was a disguise. Magic radiated out from him, most of it from his staff. The blue stone on its end was clearly very special. Although it was likely he was being led to his doom, he could not do much else but follow. Sitting on the mountain the rest of his existence was not appealing, and until he found some other creature that could be of more use, this was his only route. 

The landscape around grew more and more lush as they descended the mountain east and north. Sometimes, when they traversed the peak of a smaller mountain, they could glimpse a glittering promise of a wide inland sea. Alatar said this was lake Rhûn, and by its shores they would find the Men of Rhûn. With any luck, the men would could be hired to take them up the river Celdiun, or river Running, as the locals named it. It would take them as far north as they needed to go, and long on their way west. 

Once down into the shallow valleys, the landscape alternated between wide open fields and dense forests. There were farms on all the best eastern-facing slopes, but the wizard kept them on the small dirt road and would not seek shelter. He claimed many of these men served the Dark Lord, the ruler to the south, and he was not welcomed among them. In such uncertain times, it was best to brave the forests at night, even with the threat of Orcs. 

Loki saw few people, and he wondered if they did not hide away when they saw someone unknown approach, or if they saw that it was the blue wizard. 

Once over the last high hills before the Sea of Rhûn, they saw a wide dense forest on the western slopes, but the wizard said the path was easy to follow. Beyond the forest lay the Sea, almost wide enough to reach the horizon. There was one big island to the south-west, and Loki could see settlements all along the eastern shores, moving north and west. Far in this direction he spied the river. So far, everything the wizard had told him had been accurate. 

They slept on the hill before going down. Loki's dreams were troubling. Fingers slipping, Thor's stricken face, Odin's unfeeling gaze. He woke in a sweat, and the wizard gave him some tea, but Loki declined. He would only drink water directly from good streams they passed. 

He should be dead, but instead he was on a planet not part of the Nine, full of magic. He could not help but be fascinated, and that helped push the Fall from his mind. 

The Men of Rhûn were wary of them, and even with many gold coins, they would not take them on their boats. They seemed primitive to Loki, and reminded him of Midgard in many ways. But they made better wine than most. They eyed Loki with undisguised fear and suspicion. Alatar managed to purchase horses and supplies, and they set off along the river's eastern shores. They would cross it when they came to Lake Town, according to Alatar, underneath the great dwarfish kingdom of Erebor. Loki had little contact with the dwarfs of Svartalheimr, but he knew them to be stubborn and greedy. From the way Alatar described them here, they must be very similar. Alatar hoped to avoid contact with them. They mistrusted wizards, and elves even more so. 

At night they did not light fires, for Alatar feared orc-packs or unfriendly men. The dark put Loki in a sour mood. He gazed up at the stars, but their arrangements were foreign to him. He must be far away from the Nine. A part of him wondered if it was his fate to die here. Thor and Odin most likely thought him dead already. They had no doubt given a sigh of relief at his loss. The frost-giant was no more. He had to wonder what they had told Frigga. Although it pained him, he wished she had no love for him, to spare her all grief. It was surely better this way. 

Remaining on Arda was not an option. He did not belong – he didn't belong anywhere, but least of all here. 

The journey was long, but the landscape easy and beautiful. The river was wide and slow-flowing, and the wizard even fished once or twice. He continued his jovial mannerism. One evening, while risking a short fire to cook his catch, the wizard decided to teach him a little Elvish, to fool the men of the lake. 

After a short lesson, the wizard lapsed into silence. 

'How did you come to fall?' he asked abruptly. Loki hesitated to answer. 

'There was a great calamity,' Loki said. 'The bridge we use between worlds broke, and I fell from it.' 

'I see. And will no one look for you?' 

'No.' Loki glanced up at the stars. 'They think me dead.' 

'I am sorry for that.' 

'Why?' 

'Being alive when people think you are dead is very troublesome. But, it has a tendency to reveal true friends and allies.' Loki gave a soft snort at that idea. The wizard lapsed into silence, and they ate their fish. 

For several days, they could see Erebor rising above the horizon. It was called the Lonely Mountain, and Loki could easily see why. It was taller by far than the hills surrounding, and it even dwarfed the nearest mountains to the east, the Iron Hills. According to Alatar, they would pass beneath the mountain and enter the forest of Mirkwood, taking the great east road as far west as was needed. They would have to sell their horses to the people by the shores of the lake, as the forest was no place for them. 

The people of the lake had heard rumours of their coming from the boat-men that traded in goods and wine from Dorwinion. They were friendlier than the Men of Rhûn, but offered little actual hospitality. To Loki they appeared marginally more advanced. The town out on the lake looked a bit hodge-podge, but it had to be somewhat well-engineered to stand for what looked like a long time. So far, Loki had seen very little to suggest he would want to stay on this world. There was a lot more magic here, he admitted, and the people seemed aware of it, even if they made little use of it, but it was hardly enough to tempt him. 

The people eyed Loki as a mythical creature. Alatar bought a green cloak for him to wear over his armour, to appear less threatening. It helped very little. 

After resupplying, they crossed the river and entered the forest of Mirkwood on the old forest road. Alatar told him to keep a watchful eye, as the forest had grown darker and they would encounter horrid creatures within. The elves Alatar hoped to avoid, and he cloaked them in a heavy enchantment to let them pass unseen. 

The forest was unlike any Loki had entered. The dark magicks made the air thick and intoxicating, though Loki knew how to shield against its power. It grew with every step, and according to Alatar, this was the brighter side of the forest. 

They travelled for an hour before Alatar suddenly stopped short, holding up a hand for Loki to remain quiet. Loki searched the dense forest, but could not see anything. He tried to listen, but there was only a little bird-song and other animals. Nothing of note. 

He heard the crunch of footsteps just as a dozen tall elves stepped into view, surrounding them with ready arrows. Loki had to be impressed. No one had sneaked up on him since he was a child. 

The leader stepped onto the path in front of Alatar. He was as tall as Loki, with long blond hair and shining blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. He wore leather armour, with a metal shoulder guard. At his hip was a beautiful sword, and on his back a bow like the others. He eyed the wizard up and down, then looked over his shoulder at Loki. He frowned deeply. Loki disliked him immediately. He was prettier than any elf on Alfheim, he'd give him that. 

'What business brings you on the forest road?' the young elf asked. 

'We are traveling to Isengard to seek the head of my Order, Saruman the White, and we would rather stay on the road than brave the shorter way.' 

'I have heard of three wizards of the Order of the Istari, but the last two have never travelled this far west. What is your name? And who is your companion?' 

'I am Alatar the Blue,' the wizard gave a low bow. 'This is my assistant, Loki, from your eastern kin.' Loki pursed his lips at the “assistant” remark, but kept quiet. The elf eyed him dubiously. 

'No foreign travelers may walk the forest road without the king's consent. You will hand over your weapons and follow me to the Elvenking's Halls.' 

'I only have my walking stick,' the wizard said, leaning heavily on it. 'I use no weapons. I am not a great member of our Order, unfortunately. I have no skill in fighting. We are both peaceful travelers.' 

'I will have your stick regardless,' the elf said, taking it with little resistance. Another elf stepped up to Loki and he handed over the one small blade he still had on him when he fell. The elf frowned at the blade, checked him over quickly, then gave the blade to their leader. 

Loki was more than a little uneasy, but kept his face a mask. He noted that all the elves wore their hair long, and all save one had blond hair. 

They walked hidden paths through the forest. Even Loki was having trouble following it. He had a feeling they would discover he was not an elf fairly easily. The question then was what they would conclude about his presence. 

The sight of the gates of the Elvenking's Halls silenced all thoughts. As they entered, Loki was for the first time appreciative of the world he had fallen to. The architecture was exquisite, and the way they weaved together rock and wood was unlike anything he had seen before. They followed a path along winding bridges and ledges. He could not see where the work of the elves ended and the natural wonders of the cave began. His head turned this way and that to take it all in, and he didn't even see the way all the elves looked at him. 

When they arrived at the throne, Loki finally felt the hostile environment he was in. The elf – the king – lifted his head and Loki swallowed. This was definitely a king, and far more impressive than the king of Alfheim. Odin was the more powerful, easily, but Loki had never seen any creature inhabit a position of power so gracefully. Loki did not know what to make of his reaction – he failed to realise he was intimidated. 

The leader elf stepped forward. 

'This man claims to be Alatar the Blue, a member of the Istari, and his assistant, an elf from the east, called Loki.' 

'The Blue Wizards have never been seen west of lake Rhûn in my life-time,' the king said, his voice slow and melodious. 'As for his assistant,' the king smiled slightly, 'he is no elf.' 

'King Thranduil,' the wizard spoke. 'I am but a humble servant to my Order, I am bringing this person to Saruman. He is in need of our help. We mean no harm to your kingdom.' 

'Of that I have little doubt,' the king said. 'But I am surprised you would leave the east without your brother. What of the people there you shepherd? Gandalf the Grey has spoken of your work there. Have you abandoned the people of Rhûn?' 

'No, my brother continues the work,' the wizard replied. Loki could sense he was uneasy. 

'The reports from the river men would suggest you are losing influence. Our wine stores are at an all-time low. The people grow suspicious and follow the dark.' 

'There is a growing shadow,' the wizard admitted. 

'We feel its presence even here,' the king said. 'It creeps up from the south.' He looked to Loki, and the Asgardian felt paralysed by his stare. Slowly, the king uncurled from his throne and stepped down. The wizard was pulled back by the guards, leaving Loki alone in front of the king. He was slightly taller than Loki, and of the same build. His eyes shone by some unfamiliar magic. 

'You weave a thick illusion about you,' he said, looking Loki over from head to foot. He reached out, and Loki forced himself to stand still. The king moved so slowly, but it was calculated, as if he would move too fast for you to see if he let himself move thoughtlessly. He touched the tips of Loki's ears and to Loki's astonishment the illusion crumbled, revealing his true ears. The king leaned back as if to admire what he had done. 'Better,' he murmured. 'Tell me who you are, and not what the wizard has told you to say.' 

'I am Loki of Asgard,' he said, hoping his voice did not sound as light as it felt. 'I come from a different world. I fell here by accident. I seek only to return home. The wizard said his Order might have enough power to help.' 

The king stared at him for a long time, and Loki met his gaze as best he could. 

'You are a man?' 

'No- I am Asgardian. Our lives are far longer than men. On some worlds we are as gods.' 

'I feel your power,' the king said. 'It is impressive. Your illusion is almost a part of you.' 

'I wear no illusion.' 

The king tilted his head in contemplation. 'I see.' He turned towards the wizard, leaving Loki feeling ill at ease. 

'I would keep you here as my guests until such time as the forests are safer to travel. My warriors are clearing the path as we speak. A few days delay, no more.' 

'We will brave the path now,' the wizard said. 

'No,' the king replied, ascending his throne. Loki glanced at the wizard. 'And I will send a few of my warriors with you on your way, to make sure you arrive unharmed.' 

'King Thranduil is most generous, but such protection is unnecessary.' 

'I insist.' 

The wizard looked about to pop. Suddenly, he raised his hand and his staff flew from the hands of the guard. He raised it high, the blue stone shining bright enough to blind them, striking the floor with it. A blast of energy shot out, and when everything had settled, the wizard was gone. 

'As I suspected,' the king sighed. 'It appears he was more interested in your power than your journey. Does this surprise you?' 

'Hardly, but I had little else to do but follow him.' 

'He was correct about the Order,' the king said. 'If you wish to go home, the Istari are your only hope. Reluctant though I am to admit it, Gandalf the Grey would truly help you. I would urge you to Imladris, to seek out Lord Elrond. He will know where the wizard is.' 

'This Lord Elrond is an elf?' 

'Of the Noldor,' the king looked sour. 'There is little love between our kin.' 

'And you will let me pass through your kingdom?' 

'You will stay the night and dine with me,' the king said. 'Tomorrow Prince Legolas will lead you to the western gate. From there you must make your own way over the Misty Mountains.' The leader – the Prince – made a face at the order, but kept silent. 

Loki bowed low. 'You are most generous, King Thranduil.' 

'Tauriel will show you rooms where you may bathe and dress.' The red-haired elf stepped forward, eyes wide and staring. Loki bowed once more to both king and prince, and followed her. The guards did as well. 

As they walked the magnificent hallways of the Elven King, Tauriel kept glancing behind her, giving Loki curious stares. He was led to an apartment worthy of Asgard, except in place of gold, there was silver, marble and carved wood. It seemed like every piece flowed into another, room and furniture as if carved from the same rock. Tauriel watched him as he circled the room. Servants entered bringing clothes and a plate of fruit. 

'Are you truly from another world?' Tauriel asked. Loki looked at her, and saw that she was not afraid. 

'Yes, it is... far away.' 

'What is it like?' 

'Not like this,' Loki said. 'We have elves, but they are not quite like you.' 

'What are you?' 

'I... I am Asgardian.' 

'Such a strange word,' she said, smiling. She bowed. 'I will come collect you for the evening meal.' With that she left him. He explored the rest of the apartment, finding the bath already filling with warm water. 

He bathed and contemplated his position. These elves saw much more than they let on. The thought chilled him. Unbeknownst to him, his mind was on the edge of a precipice, and by the smallest push, it would break. 

After his body had recovered some from the long journey, he got up and put on the robes they had left for him, glad to be out of his armour. 

The robes were of a shimmering fabric, with a tint of lavender in colour. There were details on the cuffs and collar, beautiful knot work. The robes were buttoned tight all down the front with glass buttons. 

He was just finished putting it on when Tauriel knocked and led him down to the King's dining hall. Thranduil and Legolas were in deep conversation in the corner of the great hall, but stopped abruptly when Loki entered. Legolas had changed out of his armour and was wearing a knee-length tunic of a shimmering green colour, with matching breeches and high boots. Thranduil looked Loki up and down, and Loki felt a blush rise to his cheeks. 

'Your stature suits our clothing well, Loki of Asgard.' 

'Thank you, King Thranduil.' 

'Come, we shall sit.' 

The table was laid out for three, and Loki was seated to Thranduil's right side. The food was foreign, but Loki's keen magic and sense of smell would alert him to most substances poisonous to him. Besides, they could have killed him off a dozen times by this point. 

Thranduil ate in the same way he seemed to do anything, sensually and slowly. Legolas spent the entire meal staring distrustfully at Loki, and he in turn avoided the Prince's gaze. 

'Tell me of your world,' the king commanded. 

'Asgard is the leader of a union of planets, which we call the Nine Realms. On Alfheim there are elves who look much like you.' 

'Strange to think of our kind beyond the stars. What other races are there?' 

'Many strange races, probably beyond count. The dark elves of Svartalfheim are... quite different.' 

Thranduil asked many more questions about Alfheim, and Loki kept him entertained for the evening. Loki was escorted back to his rooms after. 

There were no windows in the caves, but several walls were painted with the most pretty murals. He guessed they depicted myths or important moments in their history. He was studying one of them while unbuttoning his robes when the door opened the King Thranduil entered silently. Loki froze. 

'Is there something else you wished of me, Your Majesty?' 

'You fascinate almost beyond reason,' the king said, head tilted as if considering how to eat his cake. Loki swallowed and almost did up his buttons, but instead forced himself to let his hands fall to his sides. 'A man fallen from the sky. Your star shone in the heavens for almost a week. Many of my people thought you portended doom upon us.' 

'I swear I do not mean anything.' 

'I believe you, though your disguise tells me you favour lies over truth.' 

'I told you I wear no disguise.' 

'I do not claim to be a great teller of truth myself,' the King said, walking closer, 'but your foreignness betrays you easier than if you were one of us. The key to a good lie, after all, is to let the audience fill in the blanks themselves. But I do not know what to expect of you, and so I see only the cracks.' 

Loki's heart was in his throat as the King stood before him. His eyes pierced him, drawing him out. Loki's fragile mind was about to crack. 

'Show me your true self,' the King said. 

'I- I wear no disguise.' 

Suddenly, the King began muttering words in a language Loki's magic could not translate. The power in the words swirled around the room, closing in on Loki like spiders crawling all over his skin. He gasped and looked down at his hands, horrified to see them turning blue. It spread up his arms, and he could feel it on his face. He looked up at the King, knowing his eyes were now red. The King stared back with the same curious expression. 

'What are you?' he asked. 

'Jotun,' Loki snapped, almost shouting. 'A creature of Jotunheim' 

'Why do you hide the most interesting part of you?' 

'It is not a source of fascination to me!' Loki growled. 'Now release me.' 

'There are species of Orcs that are almost as blue as you,' the King said. 'But you are far too beautiful for an Orc.' He narrowed his eyes. 'Why did you fall?' 

'I will not be your toy,' Loki said. 'Release this magic.' 

'Tell me the truth and I will.' 

Loki made a noise of frustration. The King was completely unmoved by Loki's anger. He was utterly confident Loki could do nothing to hurt him while in his kingdom. Oh, if they had but met on a battlefield. 

'I fell because I had to,' he said suddenly. In his mind he felt Thor's fingers slip out of his own, knowing with that relaxing of muscle he had condemned himself to death. For what? He honestly did not know – a million reasons clouded his mind. Shame. Despair. Revenge. They had all seemed enough in the moment. 'I had no place on Asgard,' he whispered. 'I am a monster.' 

'These Jotuns are evil?' 

'They are the enemies of Asgard,' which was the same, to Loki. 

The King reached out to touch, and Loki flinched back. 'Do not touch me. Your skin will burn.' 

'You are warm?' 

'Cold. Jotuns are known as frost-giants. Your skin would blacken and die.' He gazed at the King's flawless skin, growing sick at the thought of marring it by touch alone. But that was what monsters did. 

'You fell with purpose,' the King said. 'I see the despair in your eyes.' 

'You know nothing of me. If you did you would be afraid.' 

'I have burned before,' the King said. 'I prefer the cold night to the heat of the day.' His hand shot out suddenly, so quick Loki almost didn't see it, and grabbed his bare wrist. Loki struggled, but in his shock the King's grip was firm. But after several seconds Loki stilled as he realised the King was not burning. 'It seems my elven skin is hardier than you think.' 

'Let me go.' 

The King stepped up close, face inches from Loki's. His eyes captured Loki completely. 

'Your fall has not ended,' he said softly. 'I see a long and dangerous path ahead for you.' 

'I do not believe in the gift of foresight.' 

'I need not see forwards to see you now, and the inevitable road you will take.' 

'And what is my destination?' Loki mocked. 

'That is unclear. But you will either think yourself strong, and be burnt, or rise from your fall with wounds you will carry forever.' 

'I despise those who speak in vague promises.' 

'I speak from experience.' The King closed his eyes in pain, turning his left cheek towards Loki as he let an illusion slip across his face – or was it an illusion? Loki did not understand this magic. Thranduil's cheek was almost gone, a horrid wound appearing and disappearing in the blink on an eye. Loki had a vision in his mind of great beasts of the air, spewing fire and taking down a hundred men with one lung-full. 

When the moment was over, Loki was no longer certain he would want to meet the King on the battlefield. He realised the King was still holding his wrist and glanced down at it. When he looked back up, the King was even closer. 

'Are your people well versed in the arts of pleasure?' 

'I- I suppose there are those who claim mastery of it.' Loki in truth had not lain with man or woman in a thousand years. 

'How old are you?' the King asked, as if reading his mind. 

'About two millenniums, we don't tend to count.' 

'Hmmmm, about my son's age.' That gave Loki pause. Odin was over five thousand years and he was beginning to look old. The elves of Alfheim grew much the same. 'I will have you regardless.' 

'I-' Loki's answer was stopped with a kiss. Not too hard, but it broke no argument. The King's lips were warm compared to Loki. 

His heart was going a million miles a minute, and the thought of making love as a frost-giant was making his stomach churn. But the elf magic would not release him, and the King would not accept a refusal. 

And Loki did not want to protest. 

The King was undoing his buttons, he realised. The kiss deepened, and Loki opened his mouth. The King hummed, the sound hypnotic, and Loki gasped as his warm hands glided up his torso and pushed the robes off his shoulders. His undergarments were undone next. 

The King stepped back and admired his naked body. Loki did not wish to look down at it. 

'What are these markings?' 

'I- I do not know.' 

The King leaned forward and kissed one of the lines by his collarbone. Loki shivered. 

'Your Majesty-' 

'Please, no formalities in bed. Thranduil sounds so nice on your foreign lips.' 

'Thranduil,' Loki said. But the elf did not listen, and instead turned towards the bedroom, disappearing inside. Loki glanced down at himself, shivering again at the sight. Blue all over. He followed, and found Thranduil shedding his own robes. His skin was absolutely flawless, paler even than Loki used to be, and his white hair matched. He gently took off his crown and placed it on the bedside table. His bare back was... enticing, Loki could not deny it. 

Thranduil turned and reached out. Loki tried not to flinch. He was guided onto the bed, on his back. Thranduil straddled him, his hair falling over his shoulders, tickling Loki's chest. 

'You are unlike any creature I have seen,' he said. 'After millenniums of solitude, you have awakened something within me I thought dead. I did not think I would lay with another until I joined my lady in the Halls of Mandos. I will explore you as I once did these woods.' 

His long fingers explored Loki's chest and arms, tracing the markings. He leaned down. 'Are you sensitive here, I wonder?' He sucked on Loki's left nipple, and it was definitely as sensitive as it had been in his Asgardian skin. 

He tried to keep his mind focused, to remember what he was in that moment, remember why he fell, but Thranduil's beauty and utter focus on the giving of pleasure overwhelmed his broken mind. He fell into a haze. 

Thranduil always seemed to know when he needed a kiss to shut him up before he spoke a protest. Thranduil's skin was like warm silk. 

'You may touch me as well,' he whispered, and Loki's hands went almost straight to the man's backside, earning him a chuckle. 

Thranduil gripped Loki's member, stimulating it while doing something with his tongue and Loki's ear. It made his world spin. 

'How- What is this magic?' 

'Pleasure is no place for magic,' Thranduil whispered. He got on top again, making sure their hips aligned and Loki keened as Thranduil helped him lift his knees so they fitted better together. His skin was too warm. He was desperate for release. Thranduil kept him on a leash, seemingly unaffected, until Loki with a frustrated growl rolled them over. 'Is this the frost-giant I see?' Thranduil asked, framing Loki's face with his hands and gazing into his eyes. 'Yes, good. Unleash it all.' 

'You do not know what you ask.' 

'Neither do you.' 

Loki growled, ending on a muffled moan as he was pressed closer by Thranduil wrapping his legs around his waist. They rocked together. Loki started kissing Thranduil everywhere he could reach. He found a particular good spot on his neck, and sucked. This finally produced a gasp and moan. 

'Inside,' Thranduil gasped. 'Now, at once.' 

Loki did as he was told, and entered Thranduil, finding it as smooth as the rest of him. Thranduil threw his head back, teasing Loki with that neck of his. Loki stared at it transfixed as he started thrusting into him. Thranduil closed his eyes and Loki enjoyed seeing his whole body rock as he increased the force of his thrusts. 

'Unleash it all!' Thranduil commanded. Loki braced himself, one hand on the bed, the other on Thranduil's hip. He thrust as hard as he could, but Thranduil only moaned and made no protest. Loki finally reached the precipice he was grasping for, just after Thranduil's release. They collapsed in a heap, Loki rolling off, all his senses blurring. 

He must have fallen asleep. Thranduil was gone when next he became aware. He was returned to his normal colour, but a tiny sliver of him was disappointed.


	2. Chapter 2

The King was gone in the morning, which was hardly a surprise. Loki did not want to think about what had happened the night before. He pushed it determinately from his mind. 

Loki got up and put on his armour, noting that it had been cleaned to perfection, just in time for Tauriel to come and collect him. He was led to the throne room, where Thranduil and Legolas were waiting for him. The former looked down on him from his throne, a tiny satisfied smile on his lips. Legolas had the same brooding look, and he was dressed for the journey ahead. 

'Your Majesty,' Loki greeted with a bow. 

'Loki of Asgard, I wish you luck on your journey,' Thranduil said. He gestured to one of the guards. 'And I have a gift for you.' The guard stepped forward and held forth a beautiful sword. Loki reached out and pulled it from its scabbard, marveling at the perfectly balanced weapon. It was wide enough to inflict heavy damage, curving slightly and ending in a wicked tip. There was writing carved into the back edge, the script as graceful as the race that wrote it. The hilt had no cross-guard, and was encased in leather with a spiral pattern. Loki examined it, but did not swing it. It was a long and exact weapon. 

'This is a magnificent gift, Your Majesty,' Loki said. 

'Let it not be said that King Thranduil sends innocent guests into his forest unprotected. It is a legendary sword. Its name is Aeglos, which in Sindarin means Snow Point.'

Loki stopped examining the weapon to glance at Thranduil, who was, if anything, smirking. Loki fought his blush, swallowing down his anger at the secret jest. But it did not appear to have been made with hurtful intentions. Thranduil seemed incapable of understanding why Loki's Jotun form was a defilement to all that was good in the world. 

'Thank you, My King,' Loki bowed. He re-sheathed the sword and fastened it to his hip with a knot-work belt. 

'Prince Legolas will lead you to the western gate,' the King said. 'There he will show you the way west to Imladris. Give my greetings to Lord Elrond, and then seek out Gandalf the Grey.' 

'I will, King Thranduil. Thank you for your hospitality.' 

'Thank you for your... unique company.' Loki felt a slight blush steal onto his face, and that fact shocked him more than the King's implication. He did not see it, so caught up in his own unexpected reaction, but Legolas grew suddenly stiff, glancing between Loki and the King. He quickly refocused his gaze on the floor, but his shoulders remained squared. 

'Your Majesty,' Loki said, bowing in thanks. 

'May the Valar bless your journey,' Thranduil said, waving his hand. 

There was a flurry of movement as the small company set out. Loki was given a pack of provisions and walked in the middle of the group, Prince Legolas leading the way. 

As they passed out of the gates of the Elvenking's hall, Loki felt a strange sense of loss at the sight of the dark forest. No creature in the Nine Realms could ever drag the truth from him, but for a brief moment Loki wondered if he should stay under Thranduil's roof forever. The thought was gone before the party crossed the bridge. 

They followed the elf path through the forest. It grew darker and denser with every step, and all the elves were on high alert. For days they travelled thus, lighting big fires at night to keep away creatures. The elves spoke only in their own tongue, ignoring Loki completely. All save Tauriel, who would creep away occasionally to give him his share of the food and ask him questions about Asgard. Loki humoured her only because of her undisguised curiosity. 

On one such night, Loki had to ask. 

'May I asked why you are the only elf among your kind with red hair?' 

'Oh, yes, of course. It's because I am a wood elf,' she said with a smile, but Loki could see there was sadness from sometime long ago hiding under it. 

'I shall not pry,' he said. It would not be wise to chase away his one conversation partner. 

'It's fine,' Tauriel said. 'King Thranduil has been very kind to me.' She glanced over at the rest of the group, sitting close to the fire. 'But I know what it means to find yourself far from what is familiar.' 

Loki ignored the comment, and swiftly changed the subject to the creatures that they might encounter. Unfortunately, there was little reason for him to hear tales of giant spiders. They were left alone all through the forest. When they finally reached the western gate, Loki felt as though he had not seen the sun for a month. Ahead of them lay open fields and healthy trees, rising from rolling hills into towering, snow-capped mountains, far higher than Erebor. It made a breathtaking picture. 

'Those are the Misty Mountains,' Legolas told him, speaking in the common tongue for the first time. Loki took them in with a sense of foreboding. They were as tall as the highest mountains on Asgard, and they stretched as far as the eye could see from north to south. Getting over them would be a challenge to say the least. 'Follow the path and it will lead you to Imladris. Avoid caves.' 

'What is inside the caves?' 

'Goblins, and lots of them. Horrid creates, easily killed, but not when it's you against the horde.' 

'I shall sleep under the stars,' Loki concluded. 

'Good luck,' Legolas said reluctantly and turned back. The other elven warriors followed immediately, but Tauriel lingered. 

'Stay safe,' she said. 'I hope you reach your home soon.' 

'Thank you,' Loki said, ignoring the sour taste in his mouth at the sentiment. She nodded, smiled briefly, and hurried after her people. Loki watched them disappear into the darkness before turning to the task at hand. He took a deep breath, and began walking. 

XXX 

'It is empty,' Thor said, sighing at the sight. He turned and reached out, helping Frigga up the unstable gravel edge of the crater. They stared down into the empty hole. 

'But he was here, and he was alive,' Frigga said with hope, pointing to a set of tracks leading out of the crater. 

'Him and someone else,' Thor said, crouching to examine them closely. 'Someone who walked with a cane. But their steps seem sure. I do not believe he was bound.' 

'They went north-east,' Frigga said, gazing over the rolling hills and forests. With her keen eyes and high vantage point, she thought she saw a flash of sunlight across water. 'He is alive,' she whispered to the wind. 'Come,' she said to Thor. 'We must catch up with him.' 

They could follow the tracks easily enough down the gravely part of the mountain, but once they reached the grass the tracks disappeared. Thor spied a trail and decided it was the logical way to go, judging by the track's direction. 

They had arrived on the strange planet thanks to Frigga's demands and Odin's magic. He had managed to send his magic along the same path of the Bifrost's energy, but after that they were on their own. Odin had not been keen to send them on their way, but once Frigga had made up her mind, she would not be deterred. Thor had volunteered to help and protect her. 

They followed the road, and saw a few farms and people here and there. When asked, they all pointed dismissively north-east and said not a word. It was not until they reached Lake Rhûn they found someone who would speak to them. 

The small town by the lake's shores was primitive, but well-organised. Frigga and Thor both wore heavy cloaks to disguise their armour and weapons – Thor's hammer and Frigga's sword. Along the docks were a row of merchants, and if anyone had seen someone strange pass through town, it was them. 

'You mean the Blue Wizard,' one said, when asked about the pair they were seeking. 'Ay, he passed through here with an elf. We don't get many of them round here. He had an odd look about him. They wanted to rent a boat, but none of the captains wanted them aboard.'

'Do you know where they were heading?' Thor asked. 

'North to Lake Town, I think. Torgrim sold 'em some horses. Wizard's gold is as good as any, I suppose. We don't like them here, trying to tell us what to do.' 

'Thank you, friend,' Thor said. They were about to leave, when the man spoke again. 

'I reckon you two might find a boat for hire, seeing as you seem like normal folk. You should check with Borga,' he said, nodding towards the docks. Thor thanked him again, and did just that. They had brought gold chips, and one alone was enough to get them to Lake Town once the captain had bit into it. Hopefully, the river would help them catch up with Loki. 

The country-side was beautiful, and both Frigga and Thor spent some time discussing the world and the people they had seen so far. Anything to keep their minds off Loki for a few seconds. Frigga felt the magic covering the land, and although it was foreign, it was a comfort, as it seemed to her like a trail she was following, leading her to Loki. 

Lake Town was interesting, and they were mistaken for well-off people of Rhûn. The merchants there told that the wizard and Loki had gone west. Again, Loki was mistaken for an elf, and Frigga had to wonder if it was a deliberate disguise. 

They were warned about going into the forest. It was King Thranduil's realm, but if Loki had gone that way, they would brave the wrath of a hundred kings. 

It was not kings Frigga feared once they entered Mirkwood, however, but whatever darkness lay there. The trees seemed to have taken up a sickness from the earth. It unnerved Thor even more than her, for he could not hammer a shadow. 

'Stay alert,' Frigga said. 'There is something watching us.' 

'What is it?' 

'I do not know.' 

They followed the path for several hours, always feeling a pricking sensation at their necks. Frigga stopped abruptly and Thor felt Mjølnir vibrate. There was magic in the air. 

All at once, five elves jumped from the trees, three rose from their hiding places and two stepped onto the path both in front and behind them. All of them had arrows at the ready. All had been deadly silent. Thor immediately raised his hammer, but Frigga raised her own hand in warning. The scene froze. 

'We are no threat to you,' Frigga said. 'Please, we are looking for a blue wizard and a young man who passed this way some time ago.' 

Another elf, this one clearly the leader, stepped forward. 

'Hand over your weapons,' he ordered. 

'I will gladly hand you my sword,' Frigga said. 'But I am afraid you will not be able to take his hammer.' 

'Why not?' 

Thor snorted and let Mjølnir drop to the ground, indicating to the nearest elf to pick it up. The elf hesitated, but approached cautiously, gripping the handle and pulling, only to stumble when the hammer failed to budge. The elves spoke quietly to one another in a fluttery language Frigga's magic could not translate. 

'What magic is this?' the leader asked. 

'My Prince,' a red-haired elf spoke. 'They are looking for Loki.' 

'You have seen him?' Frigga asked, hope blossoming. 

The Prince spoke a string of elvish words to the red-head. Frigga drew herself up. 

'I am Frigga, Queen of Asgard,' she said, drawing their attention. 'And I demand you tell me what you know of my son.' The elves all stared at her, eventually the leader spoke. 

'I can not bring you before the King so armed.' 

'Then tell me what I need to know and let me pass.' 

The red-head and leader spoke more elvish. The leader sighed, seeming agitated. 

'I will take you to the King,' he decided. 

They were led through the forest. Frigga noted the red-head, and gave her a smile of thanks when the opportunity presented itself. Thor had fastened Mjølnir to his belt, though he was clearly uncomfortable with so many warriors around him and no fighting. 

They came out of the forest to the bridge, and the gates of the Elvenking's halls. Frigga admired the workmanship, but was too eager to see Loki to think much of it. The leader elf turned to them. 

'Welcome to the halls of King Thranduil,' he said, a tad reluctantly. 

They were led to the throne, from where King Thranduil watched them with curiosity. As the elf leader presented them, Frigga curtsied, bowing her head in greeting. 

'This woman says she is Frigga, Queen of Asgard, mother of Loki.' 

'I bid you welcome, Queen Frigga,' king Thranduil said. 'I did suspect there was something royal about Loki, though he failed to give me his title.' 

'Thank you, your Majesty. I and my other son, Prince Thor,' she indicated him and he bowed in greeting, which was returned with a nod from the king, 'have travelled far in search of him. Is he still nearby?'

'I am afraid he travelled west a few days ago. I directed him to seek out the wizard Gandalf the Grey in the hopes of returning home.' 

'And the Blue Wizard people said he travelled with?' 

'The Blue Wizard was not genuine in his desire to help Prince Loki. He escaped when I confronted him about it.' 

'So, Loki is alone?' 

'My son, Prince Legolas, guided him to the western gate of my kingdom. From there he travelled over the Misty Mountains to the home of Lord Elrond, alone.' 

'Then I beg your leave to follow him.' 

'Allow my warriors to resupply, and they will guide you to the western gate. In the mean time, you might dine with me to refresh yourself for the long journey.' 

Frigga knew better than to contradict a king, and considering the strange magic in the forest, it might be best to have guides. She disliked this king, but only as much as she generally disliked all those who stood between her and what she wanted. They were led to the King's dining hall, where it was admittedly good to be refreshed. Thor was a bit disappointed at the lack of meat, but he kept quiet. 

'Prince Loki is your second born?' the King asked during the meal. 

'Yes, Your Majesty.' 

'It is admirable of you to come all this way to find him.' 

'A mother's love,' Frigga said with a sad smile. 

'Indeed.' 

They lapsed into a short silence. 

'Forgive me, King Thranduil, but why do you stare at me so?' 

'Do I stare?' King Thranduil took a sip of his wine. 'I suppose I was just noting the familiar resemblance between you and Prince Thor. Loki was of such complexion, you see, that he was mistaken for our eastern kin.' 

'Hmm, is that so?' Frigga. 

'He has great strength, to survive such a fall.' 

'Yes, when the bridge failed, most were certain he had fallen to his death.' 

'I can only imagine.' Thranduil observed Thor in that moment, and although the Prince stared at his food, the elven king guessed his guilt. Why Queen Frigga herself could not see the absence of truth, Thranduil put to a mother's denial. A blind spot for anyone with such high regard for another. 

'He told me much of Alfheim and the elves there,' Thranduil said. 

'You seem to have spent a great deal of time with him,' Frigga noted. 

'Yes, I suppose it was a good deal of time,' Thranduil said, smiling slightly, sipping his wine. There was a moment of silence as they all ate. Frigga frowned into her meal. 

'He seemed in good spirits?' Thor asked, trying to appear merely concerned, but Thranduil saw the desperation in his soul. 

'He was determined to return home.' 

'I can not thank you enough for helping him,' Frigga said. 

'I was happy to do it. It has been an age since we had such a fascinating guest in Mirkwood.' 

'I am glad he...' Frigga searched for the word, 'accepted your hospitality.' 

'I offered my friendship, and he more than graciously accepted.' 

Frigga returned Thranduil's easy smile with a sharp one. They finished the rest of the meal in silence. 

XXX

Loki found that walking alone cleared his mind of everything except finding where next to place his foot. The endless trudging was meditative. It was only when night fell and he was forced to find somewhere to rest that the darkness of his mind overshadowed all else. The gnawing thoughts sprang upon him quicker every night. 

Always, he saw the look of hate on Odin's face, and heard his fatal “No”, and felt his fingers slip from the Allfather's sceptre. A part of him wanted nothing more than to grip it tighter and let himself be pulled up, but what would that have given him but a cell and the disappointed looks for centuries to come. He pictured Frigga staring from between bars, tears falling, sometimes screaming, sometimes even spitting at him, but these were nightmares beyond reason, or so he hoped. 

As he climbed the mountains, the weather worsened. Wind and rain whipped him, but he kept away from the caves, as instructed. One evening, sitting against the rock wall, huddling in his wet cloak, Loki thought he heard a voice on the wind. 'No, do not listen,' he thought. He shut his eyes, telling his heart it was only his imagination. He need only conquer himself. He may have been discarded by his family, but he would not loose his mind. 

He looked down at his hands, gripping the cloak tight to keep the wind from stealing it. The rock surrounding him was dark and slippery, but he had always handled the cold well – too well, he now understood. He turned one palm up, staring at the familiar lines, pale and shivering slightly. The cold was still a burden, but he knew Thor would have been complaining far more were he by his side. But a frost-giant would barely feel this cold... A flash of memory came, of that first transformation on Jotun. The cold had disappeared completely in that moment. He had been too shocked to note it at the time. He had not worn a cloak to protect him like the others, for he had known it would only make him too warm in battle. But when his skin had turned- 

'Did you know not to dress me too warm?' he whispered, thinking of all those winters on Asgard. Frigga dressing them, and Thor always had the thicker cloak. He wanted to scream. 

The slap of feet on the rock disturbed him. There were many footsteps. Loki got up and drew his sword, uncertain how to meet whatever was approaching. 

They came up from the east; perhaps they had been following him. He squinted through the rain, discerning shapes moving along the narrow path above the perilous cliff. The column of shapes stopped abruptly, and Loki's keen ears heard them muttering in a strange guttural tongue. He could not guess how many they were, but fighting on the narrow path was not a good idea for either party. He could not see well enough, and he knew not how many he could toss over the side before he misstepped. 

Slinging his pack over his shoulder, he hurried upwards. In the dark it was almost impossible to see, but he kept one hand on the mountain and moved as quickly as he could, feeling his way when the path grew too narrow to run. 

He heard the clink of armour against rock as the party followed. They were quick, being familiar with the path even in the dark. Loki sped up, heart pumping. He needed to find somewhere to turn and stand his ground. 

Legolas had said goblins were easily killed, but these were their mountains. One wrong step and Loki was tumbling down the side of it. 

The rain filled his eyes, whipped by the wind. 

The goblins were almost at him. 

He rounded a corner and felt the path begin to descend. Perhaps he had reached the highest point of the path. He felt along the mountain ahead of him, only to find that the wall ended abruptly. He felt around the corner and realised it was an entrance to a cave. 

'A lonely elf on the mountain,' a gargled voice said. Loki turned, gripping his sword tight. The goblin was a hideous creature, far more so than anything Loki had seen in the Nine Realms. Even Jotuns were not as disgusting. Some mindless beasts could perhaps match them in looks or smell, but because they possessed the gift of speech, they appeared the more horrifying.

'I am no elf,' Loki said, crouching slightly as he was forced to back into the cave as more and more goblins appeared along the path past the cave entrance. 'I am a powerful mage, and it would be best, for your lives' sake, to let me pass.' 

'Our king dines all creatures of Middle Earth,' the goblin said, barking out a laugh to his company. Their laughter was a mix of hissing and gurgling. Loki grimaced. 'We offer our hospitality!' The biggest goblin stamped his foot hard, three times. Loki looked down on the cave floor, and his face grew pale as the sand on the floor started to seep away into suspicious cracks. 

He raised his hand to cast a spell to blast as many goblins he could, and make a run for it, but before he could summon up his power, the floor fell away and he tumbled into darkness. 

He landed where there was light, at least, in a round wooden enclosure of very poor make. It looked most like a sheep enclosure. He got up, feeling anger surge within him, only to have his whole being stop short at the sight of the goblin realm. It was massive, almost never-ending, with haphazard constructions on every piece of rock that would hold it. Bridges went in every direction, and on them scurried goblins of every size and shape, but all equally revolting. It was like one great vile and putrid ant hill. Loki had never seen anything the same shade of foulness. 

A large horde suddenly appeared, charging across the bridge straight towards him with monstrous cries of rage and excitement. Loki raised his sword and dropped his supplies, standing ready. He brought his blade down so hard on the first hit, the nearest goblin's upper body was completely severed. They wore almost no armour, so Loki went to work on them. 

He cut into them like butter, sending some over the fence, but most landing in heaps of innards in the small enclosure. He blasted some with magic, when they became overwhelming, but mostly he saved his strength. Soon he was fighting in a foot-deep layer of putrid blood and viscera. The smell alone was almost enough to petrify him. 

He cut and cut and cut, but they were too numerous. The horde was stronger than its flimsy members.

In the end, it was fatigue and distraction that got him. One large goblin did something almost clever, and threw a rock at the back of Loki's head. It knocked him dizzy, blackening his vision, and when he regained his senses he was bound tight and being carried by a dozen agitated goblins, their noises shrill. 

Over bridges and past more goblins than Loki could count in a life-time, he was eventually brought to a platform of sort, in front of the most disfigured throne he had ever seen. That was nothing compared to the loathsome creature that sat upon it. Loki had half a mind to empty his stomach. 

He was tossed to the floor, and he rolled in front of the “king.” He wore a crown of bone, his chin vibrating like a dangling slug at every movement. He eyed Loki with his biggest eye, huffing air in and out in excitement. 

'An elf! But from what realm? Lord Elrond knows better than to send spies into my kingdom!' the king squealed. 

'He said he is a mage, your Nefariousness Sir,' one little goblin said, bowing so low his protruding belly touched the floor. 'He does not have pointed ears.' 

'A mage?' the king screeched, hiccuping on the word. He seemed not to know how to contain his excitement, wobbling this way and that, almost rocking out of his throne. 'An Istari trespassing on my doorstep?' 

'I am no Istari,' Loki said, fed up with the dumb creatures. 'I am from a world beyond the heavens. I am Loki, of Asgard, and the cleverest thing you could do right now is release me.' 

'Loki, Loki, loki,' the king tasted the name. 'Doesn't sound like an elven name, or a man's name.' 

'We found this upon him, your Magnanimous Malicious Majesty, Sir,' the little goblin said, bringing forth Loki's sword and holding it up above his head to the king could see. 

'That is Aeglos, the Icicle!' the king cried, backing away into his throne like a scared child. 'It has brought icy death to many of my kin! You bring this profane foe into my kingdom and pretend to not be in league with the elves!' 

'It was a gift from King Thranduil. I am on a mission to Lord Elrond, and have no interest in your... kingdom,' Loki gritted out. 

'A likely story!' The king said. 'He shall die! Bring forth the bone-crusher! We shall crush this elvish collaborator!' The goblin horde let out a cry of excitement and many hurried off to do as bidden. 

Loki pulled at his bonds, but remained bound. He had a feeling he would not be enjoying the goblins' hospitality for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra Notes: Aeglos was not actually a sword in Tolkien's world, but a spear wielded by Gil-Galad. The other details are correct, except that Thranduil had it. Obviously, in the books Glorfindel was using it! But I just had to use that one because let's face it, no other sword could be Loki's :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on Elvish: All elvish phrases are taken from various sites and translators. I haven’t had an elvish lesson in over fifteen years so errors abound, and I never studied Sindarin anyway ;)

Loki gritted his teeth, waiting for the moment to strike. He hoarded his magic to himself, hoping he had enough strength to escape. These goblins were an annoyance beyond anything he had encountered before. 

The King sang a horrid little tune, turning this way and that, and doing a very poor job of mimicking a dancing creature. 

‘Oh, King under the Misty Mountains,’ Loki called to him, catching his attention. His eyebrows rose, showing he was capable of skepticism. ‘I am humbled by your huge presence. King Thranduil led me to believe you were a simple, pathetic creature, but I see now that he was grossly mistaken.’ 

‘I am the Goblin King! How dare that lowly elf insult my majesty!’ the goblin screeched. 

‘He knows not of what he speaks,’ Loki agreed. ‘I wager your long rule under the Mountain far exceeds in greatness that of Thranduil, king of sticks and meadows.’ 

‘Ha! King of Sticks!’ The goblin bounced at the new insult. ‘I have reigned for several years, the Greatest Years of my mighty kingdom!’ Loki raised his eyebrows at that, but the king was too busy working the crowd into a frenzy to notice. 

The Bone Crusher was making its way across the last of the rickety bridges, and the crowd was so excited Loki had trouble hearing anything that was said. 

‘We shall crush the spy!’ the King spat. Loki decided he could wait no more. 

He closed his eyes and unleashed a whip-sharp wave of magic in all directions, scattering all the goblins around him, some of them tumbling over the edge of the platform. The King was blasted back into his thrown. Loki emptied his magic completely, probably killing dozens of them by force alone. 

Loki was on his feet, his sword in hand, before the wave had dissipated. He leapt forward at the King, plunging the sword into his flabby neck as far as it would go, until it struck the back of the throne. The King gasped, but the sword prevented him from drawing breath. Loki swiftly extracted the sword, a deluge of pus and blood spurting out and covering him. He turned his face away with a grimace, and jumped off the platform, latching on to a bucket of sorts that hung on a zip-line connected to the throne. 

The weight of Loki sent the bucket on its path down the line. The tiny goblin inside the bucket screeched, but Loki shut him up by spearing him with the point of his sword and flinging him off into the abyss below. He sheathed the sword and held on with both hands as he picked up speed. 

He thought he had escaped unscratched, but a lucky - or unlucky - arrow struck him under his right arm. He cried out, but held on tight. 

He could hear the commotion of the goblins, all screaming at the death of their King. Sounds of fighting soon took over the wailing, however, and Loki knew their ranks had gone into disarray as battle for the throne commenced. That did not mean they would not follow him, however. 

Down and down he travelled, past the last of the wooden structures, and into dark caverns. He feared he would not be able to see when the line ended, but his fears were unwarranted. There was a platform down below with two torches and a goblin waiting. He drew his sword when he spied Loki, but he was so far from a threat Loki did not bother with his own sword. 

He let go and landed hard on the goblin, crushing his pathetic skull underfoot. 

With the woosh of air gone, he could now hear only the faint sounds of fighting, echoing all the way from above. He must be almost at the bottom of the mountain, or perhaps even underground. Ahead was a passageway. It must lead to the outside, for this was the path the goblin would take when bringing a message from the king. 

He cried out in annoyance as he twisted to get a grip on the arrow that had snuck between his armour. He bit his lip and pulled it loose. He felt only the sting of pain, but had no magic left to heal it then and there. He pressed his hand over the wound. It was not large, and whoever shot it had not been very strong. As long as he did not aggravate it, he would not bleed to death. 

He took one of the torches with his free hand, extinguishing the other, and hurried down the path. 

The passageway soon narrowed, needing only to be comfortable for a goblin. Loki had to duck, and occasionally go sideways due to his armour. He had no supplies, he realised, and his cloak had been ripped off sometime, he knew not when. Those were soon the least of his fears, for he came to a crossroad. Both paths went in mostly the same direction ahead, but how to know which would veer off or fall or rise? He picked one at random, and since it kept on in the same direction he decided chance would simply have to be on his side. 

Another crossroads made him pause for far longer. This was in a T-shape, meaning he might be going further into the mountain if he picked the wrong one. He looked to his right, raising the torch to see as far as he could. 

For a moment, he thought he saw a shadow at the end of the light’s reach. It lasted only for half a second, but for that time a fist seemed to grip his heart, a chill causing all the hairs on his body to stand on edge. He stepped back in fear, almost dropping the torch completely. 

The shadow, in the shape of a man, had been beckoning to him, or warning him the other way? 

The moment was gone as quickly as it had stolen over him, and Loki shook his head at himself. What power did this mountain have over his mind? Dark passageways were not new to him, but he had been as scared as a child for a moment. 

He turned and hurried in the other direction, pushing the shadow and his reaction from his mind. 

He must have walked for twenty minutes, his back aching by the time he finally heard the sound of the wind howling. In his desperation to get out of the mountain, he rushed at the exit. He almost ran straight off the mountain. The ground below was dark, and fell away straight. It was still raining, and the clouds were so thick he was in doubt whether it was day or night. He could see a narrow path down the side of the mountain, and the tops of trees below. He just hoped he was on the right side. 

He dared not linger, so he threw the torch below him and watch it fall and extinguish. It would not have lasted long in the rain in any case. 

He followed the path, stumbling a few times due to the slippery rock. It wasn’t long until he reached the forest below. In between the trees is was darker still, and he knew he would get lost beyond reason if he tried to follow the path, if there even was a path. 

He found a large rock he could sit against that helped shield him from the wind slightly. He was starting to feel the cold. He was soaking wet and dirty, full of goblin pus, so he stank like them. He managed to use a little magic to close the wound so it stopped bleeding. His head pounded, and he was weak from the amount of magic he had expelled. 

He had no clue how much time had passed, but with his hike the previous day and sleepless night, he knew it had to be at least a day since he had last eaten or drank anything. 

Middle-Earth was not the simple, magical place he had first thought. 

He did not sleep, but huddled away from the wind as best he could, and waited for a reprieve. 

XXX 

‘Boe de nestad [He needs healing],’ a voice whispered. He felt warm light on his face, flickering through the tree tops. 

‘Man te?’[What is it?] a different voice asked. Loki was too tired to move. He could hear they were speaking their own tongue, a strange tongue even his magic could not translate. The words did not sound exactly as the ones the wizard had taught him, however, so he could do nothing but listen to the song-like speech. 

‘Ú echil egor edhel.’ [Neither man or elf]

Loki heard the crunch of leaves and pine needles and opened his eyes. He knew he was surrounded without looking. He guessed maybe half a dozen, all in light armour with bows at the ready and swords at their sides. The leader stood tall, gazing down at Loki with curiosity. He had a metal breastplate, but otherwise his armour was leather, as beautifully made as the armour he had seen in the Elvenking’s Halls. These elves were dark brown of hair, and had a more regal - or perhaps arrogant - air about them. 

‘Pedig edhellen?’ [Do you speak Elvish?] the leader asked. He had his sword drawn, but it was held at his side to appear non-threatening. Loki hoped these were the elves of Rivendell that Thranduil had spoken of. He thought he recognised some of the words the elf said, and shook his head in what he hoped was the correct answer. 

‘Who are you?’ the elf asked in the common tongue. 

‘I am Loki, of Asgard,’ he said. He kept still. ‘I seek Lord Elrond.’ 

‘Where is this Asgard? And what business have you with Lord Elrond?’ the elf asked. 

‘It is beyond the stars. You might have noticed my fall across the sky some time ago,’ Loki said, and by the elf’s quick glance to the sky he guessed the elves here had seen the shooting star as well. ‘King Thranduil sent me hither to ask Lord Elrond where I might find the wizard, Gandalf.’ 

‘Mithrandir’s whereabouts are most often known only after he has departed,’ the elf said cryptically. Loki tried not to sneer. ‘Lord Elrond is in his halls in Rivendell. If you will relinquish your sword, we will guide you there.’ 

Loki very slowly undid his sword-belt and threw the sword between him and the elf, who stepped forward to pick it up, examining it with widening eyes. 

‘King Thranduil must hold you in high esteem to grant you the sword of the Noldor.’ 

‘I will forever be grateful for his friendship,’ Loki said. ‘Though I am afraid I have no knowledge of the great lords of Middle-Earth.’ 

‘No matter, Gil-Galad perished long ago, and with him his kingdom.’ The elf gestured for his company to lower their bows, and as they did so Loki rose, wincing both at his wound, and at having slept in such an uncomfortable position. The elf made a face at the state of his armour, the blood and pus now dried and caked. ‘Please, follow me.’ 

The forest was wet from the rain, glistening in the new sun and far from sick like Mirkwood. The place felt like a balm after his labours, and Loki did not hesitate to turn his face into the light when they emerged. They travelled down into a valley, through hidden paths, sometimes even underground in caverns. Finally, they emerged on the southern slopes of a narrow valley, with a perfect view of Rivendell. 

If the Elvenking’s Halls in Mirkwood had been impressive, Rivendell was effortless. Like a gem in a hidden chest, its wooden structure made it seem almost fragile compared to the solid caves of Thranduil. But these halls were not fragile, Loki could see it must have stood for hundreds of years, maybe thousands. Again there was the same blending of nature and craftsmanship, with some columns being made of trees rooted to the spot, or statues made to look exactly like them. 

‘Welcome to Rivendell,’ the elf said, pride in his voice. ‘The last homely house west of the mountains.’ 

Loki looked west, following the fall of the river into the hilly landscape beyond the valleys that extended from the Misty Mountains. They were in shadow where they stood, but the sun was bathing several hilltops with light, and soon it would reach the homely house. Homely was hardly the word Loki would have used. He hoped the name was descriptive nonetheless. 

They followed the paved pathway down and across the river. As they did so an elf wearing dark violet robes descended from the nearest house. He was not Elrond, that Loki could guess, for he seemed too young for a creature of such reputation. He wore a pretty diadem, though a heavy frown marred his features. 

‘Athaeben,’ the elf greeted. ‘Who have you brought with you?’ 

The elf bowed as he answered. ‘One Loki of Asgard, come from the halls of King Thranduil to seek Lord Elrond.’ He presented the sword for inspection. ‘He carries this. He says he is the one who fell with the star.’ 

The elf took the sword and read the inscription. ‘A gift worthy of a great warrior,’ he murmured, and only then did Loki realise that both elves thought there was some rudeness in Thranduil’s gift. He could not guess what it was, or who the insult was intended for. 

‘Greetings, Loki of Asgard,’ the elf said, and Loki returned the bow that was given. ‘I am Lindir, I welcome you to Rivendell.’ 

‘Thank you,’ Loki said. 

‘You look in need of healing, and new clothes,’ Lindir said. ‘Please accept our hospitality before I bring you before Lord Elrond.’ 

‘Again, I thank you and most gladly accept.’ 

He was led to a smaller house set apart from the others in a beautiful garden. Then again, all of Rivendell seemed to be a garden. Asgardians were not use to wood unless they were in hunting lodges or the homes of the common folk, but the material did not seem lowly here. If anything it seemed all the more intimidating, for Loki could see very little of defensive structures. The elves must be great warriors to defend their home with only strategic walls and the natural cliffs of the valley. 

Lindir gave many instructions as they entered. Loki was brought into a room with painted walls depicting water scenes, the windows obscured by cascades of curtains in blue and grey. The walls were divided by wooden columns that rose straight up, then curved as though they were branches of a tree, coming together at the top of the ceiling in brilliantly carved arches. In the middle of the room stood a great wooden bath being filled with steaming water. Loki felt bone tired as several female elves surrounded him and began undressing him. He almost protested, but they seemed unashamed and so he could not feel any shame himself. 

Lindir did not remain, but told him to enjoy the healing. 

Once naked, the elves guided him like a child to the water. It was so hot it almost hurt, but he sank down eventually and sighed. One of the elves stepped into the water with him, wearing a silken-thin white cloth held up only by a beaded thread around her neck. She ignored his protest and began washing him. When she reached his wound she and the other elves began chanting, and Loki felt the magic in the air. Intoxicating, and peaceful, it almost lulled him to sleep. 

His skin was unblemished when they finished. Eventually she left him to clean the rest himself, and they laid out clothes for him to wear after. 

‘Lord Elrond awaits you,’ one of them told him. ‘But please enjoy the bath as long as needed.’ He thanked her, and finally he was blissfully alone. 

He had to admit, there were no kingdoms or lordships in all the Nine Realms that would give so much hospitality so freely. Or, perhaps there were no places where so many clever beings recided, being patient enough to offer him healing and rest before hearing his purpose. In either case, he had to admire them. With his admiration came caution and slight fear. The magic they had was unknown, and he had yet no idea if they used it for defensive or offensive purposes. He had been swept up by Thranduil’s presence and the novelty of it all, but he would have to be more wary now. 

After he was thoroughly clean, he rose and put on the clothes laid out. A green tunic the colour of new leaves, brown breeches, and soft shoes. Outside he was met by a female elf in deep red robes, flowers in her hair and a smile on her lips. She bowed and beckoned for him to follow her. He knew there were guards following as well, but they were expertly silent. 

The hall of Lord Elrond were much as the smaller house Loki had bathed in, only far more impressive. 

He was led through the building to a wide veranda overlooking the waterfall. Off in a corner, on a raised platform with carved arches for shading, was stood a round table where an elf was seating. This was Lord Elrond, Loki knew at once. He was far older than any elf Loki had yet seen, even older than Thranduil, but it did not show on his face miraculously enough. Loki feared these elves might actually be immortal. 

He looked to Loki and smiled as he approached. The elf who had brought him bowed and left without a word. 

‘Please, sit, Loki of Asgard,’ Lord Elrond said, indicating the chair to his left. Loki did so cautiously. 

‘Lord Elrond,’ Loki said stiffly. ‘Thank you for your hospitality.’ 

‘You are fully healed?’ 

‘Yes, My Lord.’ 

‘Good. Lindir says you have come to see me about Mithrandir?’ 

‘I was told the wizard and his order might have the power to help send me home.’ 

‘Home beyond the stars,’ Lord Elrond said, gazing up for a moment. ‘The stars are far away, perhaps too far even for the Istari’s power. But King Thranduil was right to send you. If anyone might have such power, it is the Istari.’ 

‘But you doubt they can?’ 

‘The elves know of one other world above our own. It is called Valinor, and any elf may travel there by our own magic. Asgard is much further, I would guess, and unvisited by any on Middle-Earth.’ 

‘I need not reach Asgard,’ Loki said, gazing out over the valley. ‘Only one of the Nine Realms in our union. The Bifrost - the means we use to travel between the worlds - broke and I fell here.’ 

‘You believe if your world’s magic can deposit you here, ours can lift you up again?’ 

‘Something like that.’ 

‘Then you shall meet with Mithrandir as soon as he returns.’ 

‘And when might that be?’ 

‘He said he was going to visit an old friend, but he should return within a few weeks, maybe a moon’s time.’ Loki’s face fell at the news, but there was nothing for it. ‘I hope you will remain my guest during that time,’ Elrond continued. Loki knew he probably simply wanted to keep Loki where he could observe him. He thanked the Lord with sincerity. They were then served food, very similar to the type served in Mirkwood. 

‘You left King Thranduil in good health?’ Elrond made conversation during the meal. 

‘Yes, he was very hospitable.’ 

‘More than that, I think,’ Elrond said. ‘He gave you a kingly gift.’ 

‘Yes, so Athaeben said. A sword from the King of the Noldor was it?’ Loki seemed to recall Thranduil saying Lord Elrond’s kin was of the Noldor.

‘Indeed. Did King Thanduil not tell you its name?’ 

‘He did, but he did not explain its significance.’ He had only told the name as a private joke to Loki. If the sword held any more meaning, Thranduil had not bothered to share it. 

‘It once belonged to Gil-Galad, the last High King of the Noldor, and my kinsman.’ A sadness passed into Elrond then, and Loki could finally guess at the meaning of Thranduil’s insult, and perhaps why Legolas was so upset that he had given such a gift away. 

‘How did it come to King Thranduil?’ Loki asked. 

‘Aeglos was thought to be lost after the siege of Barad-dûr, where Gil-Galad perished at the hand of Sauron the Deceiver, Lord of Barad-dûr. We won the battle, but lost our King.’ 

‘How long ago was this?’ 

‘It will soon be three thousand years. This is the first time I have laid eyes on the sword since I saw it wielded in battle. It was thought no one could stand against it, but many such sayings were proved wrong that day.’ 

‘It must have been a great battle.’ Loki, despite himself, leaned forward in fascination. 

‘It was, though I think we lost more than we won.’ Elrond shook himself out of his reminiscence. ‘I am sure you are a warrior worthy of her, Loki of Asgard, I do not mean to take your gift from you.’ 

‘I am- I am not worthy. It belongs with the King’s people. It belongs to you.’ Loki did not know why he admitted such a weakness, but these creatures seemed to always look right through him. 

‘I can see you are more than you care to share,’ Elrond said, making Loki shiver. Did he see through his pale skin like Thranduil? Loki could feel Elrond had great magic, but for all he knew it worked in an entirely different way than Thranduil’s. ‘But I know nothing of you beyond that. If King Thranduil saw something-’ 

‘He gave it to me in jest, I am certain, and as an insult to you. He practically told me so himself.’ 

‘I doubt that.’ Elrond sighed. ‘A good friend once translated the Lay of the Fall of Gil-Galad into the common tongue. It is a sad tale, and it pains me to be reminded of it, but I am glad the sword shall see battle again. May it serve you better than it did him, in the end.’ 

‘Thank you, My Lord, I will treasure it.’ 

They ate in silence, but Loki’s curiosity was eating him up from the inside. At every turn these elves showed themselves to be more interesting. He thought back to Thranduil, and wondered with no small amount of sadness what he might have learnt had he but stayed a while longer. What he did not recognise within himself, was that he was using his newfound objects of study to distract from his own inner turmoil over the events that had brought him to Arda. 

After the meal, he was told he could walk freely in Rivendell, and he was given rooms in the main hall’s upper levels. He could not sleep, and explored the place with reverence. The elves gave him stares, but none accusing, merely observant. 

He came to a house that held only paintings of great events and statues commemorating great elves. He was disappointed he could not read their names. The day had come and gone so quickly, he felt as though he had fallen to yet another world. Twilight covered everything in a red glow, and he could see fires being lit, and songs sung. He heard one being sung in the common tongue he could understand, and realised it had to be the Lay of Gil-Galad Lord Elrond had spoken of. He must have requested it despite the painful memory.

By the time he hurried towards the sound of players, he only managed to catch the words of the last verse. He stood outside the circle of elves all sitting or standing listening to the players. A lone elf sang the Lay, her bell-clear voice filled with melancholy. 

But long ago he rode away,  
and where he dwelleth none can say;  
for into darkness fell his star  
in Mordor where the shadows are.

He shivered at the name, wondering where it was - was this where Barad-dûr and her Lord lay? A shadow passed over his mind, and he grew restless without cause. It was impossible not to be reminded of his own fall, taken for a star. How close had he come to that darkness, he wondered. How close was he now? He had no real cause for concern - the elves around him were sad but calm, and the night would be a warm one with no sign of a storm. Agitated at his own inexplicable state, he retreated to his rooms and tried to sleep. But his dreams were dark and indistinct, leaping at him unexpectedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra Notes: The Fall of Gil-Galad is sung by Sam in Fellowship (the book), and was translated by Bilbo. It is one of my absolute favourites from Tolkien. So when I decided to pick Aeglos for Loki, I knew I would eventually have to reference the song at some point.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra notes: Aragorn first met Arwen in his 20th year, which would be III 2951. At this time Arwen was already 2700 years old, and had been living in Lorien. Before this time, he did not know of his true heritage and his name was Estel. It was only after their meeting (and falling in love) that he learnt his true identity and went on to become the Chieftain of the Dunedain with the rest of his people. 
> 
> Arwen’s personality is mostly based on my own readings, and not so much the films, as we don’t really get much except “I’m sad because my man is off to war”

‘But what is he?’ Galadriel’s voice curled around Elrond’s mind. He stared out over the waterfall, but in his mind he saw Galadriel’s form as she spoke to him through the mirror. 

‘I have not questioned him on that matter. I sense a deep despair in him. One that could threaten his life and others should it break free.’ 

‘You believe this despair is what caused him to fall?’ 

‘I have not learnt enough of him to judge. His mind is fragile, but his power is strong. I have not felt anything like it.’ 

‘Have you heard from Mithrandir?’ 

‘No, he is still visiting the halfling.’ 

‘When his star fell,’ Galadriel turned her gaze inward, examining her memory of the event. ‘I did not feel any darkness descending. It did not seem significant to me, though many of my people were disturbed by the sight of it.’ 

‘It was similar in Rivendell.’ Elrond sighed. Loki was a puzzle, and they did not have time to solve him. 

‘Did Thranduil pass on some message?’ 

‘Yes, an insult.’ Galadriel raised an eyebrow in question. ‘He gifted him with Aeglos.’ Galadriel let surprise show on her face, before becoming pensive. She was silent for a long time before she spoke again. 

‘Perhaps there is some other significance,’ she mused. Elrond frowned. ‘He would not waste the sword of Gil-Galad on one unworthy of it simply to insult you, while putting it within your grasp to reclaim it.’ Elrond accepted the argument, but it did not sit well with him. What had Thranduil seen in Loki to warrant such a gift? 

‘We must call the White Council together to discuss him,’ he decided. Galadriel nodded. 

‘I will depart with the morning light, and go by way of Saruman.’ 

‘And I will send word to Cirdan,’ Elrond said, voice grim, ‘and King Thranduil.’ 

‘Arwen should arrive within a day or two,’ Galadriel reminded him. ‘Perhaps it is fate that she should return now.’ 

‘I long to see her, but I would rather she had remained in Lorien until this uncertainty has passed.’ 

‘She would not be away from you any longer.’ 

Elrond knew that, and said as much. Then they said their goodbyes and severed the connection. 

XXX 

Rivendell was illuminated by stars and moonlight. Most of her occupants were asleep, but Loki was restless after waking from a nightmare. He wandered the gardens, listening to the waterfall. There was a pool of water being fed from a small stream that branched off from the river further up in the mountains. Loki sat down by the pool’s shores, soft grass under him. 

He gazed into the pool, seeing the stars reflected. Perhaps one of them was part of the Nine Realms? He tried and failed to keep his mother from his mind, and Thor - and even the Allfather. How he hated them, he thought. He turned his head up to gaze at the stars directly. He felt lowly, missing his armour. 

The memory of the Bifrost’s destruction came to him in full force. ‘No, Loki.’ He squeezed his eyes shut to dispel the images. 

Maybe he should stay in Middle-Earth, or find some other realm? It was unlikely they would want him here, after all. Especially if Elrond could see beneath his “disguise”, like Thranduil. Somehow he doubted Lord Elrond would have the same reaction to his monstrousness as Thranduil. Loki hugged himself, feeling an imagined chill. King Thranduil had no idea what he had done - who exactly he had lain with. Loki wished himself back to the Elvenking’s Halls so he could tell him that truth at least. He had tried too, but had been overcome by the elf’s magic. 

The pool looked inky black in the night. He reached out, not consciously understanding why. His fingertip touched the surface, and a leaf-thin layer of ice spread out like a snowflake. He retracted his hand as if burnt, eyes wide and staring as the ice slowly melted again. He raised his hand and examined it, but it was as pale as always. It felt like he had some disease hidden inside him, and if he wasn’t careful it would escape. 

‘You are Loki, the fallen star?’ 

Loki’s head snapped up at the words. He berated himself for being so maudlin he had become unaware of his surroundings. By the light of the moon, he saw that it wasn’t even an elf who had spoken! It was a young man. 

He was very handsome, even for a man. He wore the same clothes as the elves, tunic and breeches, but they were in muted natural colours and not the glittering, luxurious fabric they favoured. It was clear this human loved to roam the wilds, for his boots were caked with mud and there was a bow across his back. On his belt was hung a sizable knife on his right hip, and a sword on his left. His hair was dark brown, long to his shoulders, and wild, even curling slightly. He had some scruff on his chin, something no elf Loki had seen possessed. His eyes were wide, staring unashamedly. 

‘I am,’ Loki managed to answer when he had collected himself. ‘But I’m not a star.’ 

‘Are you certain?’ the young man gave a slight smile. ‘You seemed to shine, but perhaps that was just the moon.’ The man stepped closer, but kept a respectful distance still. ‘You are from another world?’ 

‘Yes.’ Loki looked up at the stars, wishing he could point to one, but the constellations were all wrong. ‘It is very far away.’ 

‘Why have you come here?’ There was no accusation in the question, merely curiosity. 

‘I fell, by accident.’ The lie was easy enough to speak. If he repeated it enough times, perhaps he would believe it himself. 

‘I am Estel,’ the man said, giving a slight bow of greeting. Loki bowed his head in return. He decided to rise. The man studied his movements. 

‘You are the only man I have seen here.’ 

‘I am the only man in Rivendell,’ Estel said. ‘Lord Elrond was kind enough to take me in after my parents died.’ 

‘His hospitality seems endless.’ 

‘His is the last homely home-’ 

‘West of the mountains,’ Loki finished, earning a smile from the young man. ‘I should get to sleep. It was very nice meeting you, Estel.’ 

‘And you, Loki.’ The young man was extremely quiet for a human, and Loki wondered whether he might have some elven blood in him. He seemed to shift into the night like a shadow. Loki wandered back to his rooms, finally falling asleep until dawn. 

XXX 

The party had taken far longer to ready themselves than Frigga was comfortable with. She wished herself over these so-called Misty Mountains a day ago, but King Thranduil said it would take many days to pass through the forest. Middle-Earth was proving a stubborn sort of place. 

The elven warriors were clearly annoyed at having to brave the long journey to the forests’ western border so short after their last trip. Frigga would have gladly left them behind, but the King insisted they be protected while in his realms. 

The morning was half gone by the time the warriors were assembling in the hall just inside the great doors. Frigga and Thor were about to shoulder their burdens when the King himself arrived in clothes fit for the road, Prince Legolas by his side, but not in his armour. 

‘Queen Frigga, Prince Thor,’ Thranduil greeted. Frigga noted there was suddenly much coming and going, as if the guards going with them were being changed. ‘I have had news from Rivendell.’ Frigga’s heart leapt into her throat, but she waited calmly for the King to tell them the message. ‘Lord Elrond has received your son.’ Frigga allowed herself a sigh of relief, and Thor’s shoulders sank from their rigid position. ‘Prince Loki is his guest.’ 

‘Thank you, King Thranduil,’ Frigga said. ‘We will go to him at once.’ 

‘I will go with you,’ the King announced. ‘Lord Elrond has asked me to a meeting. Before, I might have sent someone in my stead, but I fear they plan on discussing Loki, and I would be there to speak on all your behalves.’ 

‘You are very generous, King Thranduil. We would be honoured to have you speak for us.’ Frigga did not like the idea of the Lords of Middle-Earth discussing her son’s fate. They had to make haste. She did not trust Thranduil, but he did seem to genuinely like Loki. It was perhaps wise to arrive with someone Lord Elrond respected. ‘Are they aware of our presence?’ 

‘No, I did not have the chance to speak long with him. He merely waylaid the message.’ 

It was clear this had been done by some magic, but Frigga saw no opening to question the King further, so the party began to prepare for their journey. The King’s sudden involvement meant more delays, but they did set out that day, at least. 

XXX 

The next morning was bright and warm. It occurred to Loki he had no knowledge of Middle-Earth’s climate or seasons. At breakfast with Lord Elrond, he inquired about it and was informed they were fast approaching mid-summer, but that they had been having unseasonably cold storms all spring. Loki was lucky he had been caught in a short-lived one, or else the patrol might not have found him. 

After breakfast, since he had nothing better to do, Loki kept on with his explorations of Rivendell. He was never completely alone, though the guards kept themselves so inconspicuous even Loki could forget their presence. Rivendell in the bright sun was grand and homely, a contradiction, yet perfectly in balance here. A part of Loki thought he could enjoy such a quiet life. 

At about midday he noticed several elves were moving towards the main gateway into Rivendell. He approached cautiously, keeping behind the assembled elves. Below he could see the courtyard, and that Lord Elrond was waiting as a line of horses entered through the archway. 

The second horse bore a beautiful elven maiden, of the same dark colour as Elrond. She wore lilac travelling robes, and her head was crowned with a glittering diadem with long silver threads framing her pointed ears. She was his daughter, Loki realised, as Lord Elrond himself helped her from her mount and embraced her fondly. Loki looked away briefly from the scene as joyous cries of welcoming came from the crowd. Their Lady had returned. 

When Loki looked again, the Lady was greeting other elves with bright smiles. She looked up to wave at the crowd, and as she raised her hand her eyes caught Loki’s, and her smile faded into confusion, then curiosity, and finally something Loki could not read. He was rooted to the spot by her gaze, though the rest of the world continued as though nothing was amiss. The Lady even continued to wave, and cast several smiles at her people, but always her eyes darted back to Loki to observe him more. 

Confusion at his reaction caused his heart to beat faster, and he wrenched himself away from her gaze, walking away determinedly, going back to his rooms to sit in solitude. For several hours he remained, trying to analyse her look. Had she seen through him? Had she seen him as he really was, blue and monstrous? Or had she simply seen his true Jotun nature, lurking in his soul? He should not care, he reasoned. Elrond was his host, and these elves seemed too civilized to rescind their hospitality without provocation. They would send him to these wizards, and they would grant him the power needed to return. 

A knock on the door pulled him violently from his internal musings. He rose, unsure if he should open it. 

‘Enter,’ he said at last. The door was opened by a servant to reveal the Lady. 

She entered with a soft smile. She had changed out of her travelling robes into a beautiful red dress, though her sleeves were blue, and there small pearls around her collar, or some previous gem. Her sleeves were wide and long, the way some maidens on Asgard wore theirs. Her diadem was gone, her hair free flowing and adorned now with wild flowers here and there. She was like a dream. Loki dared not pretend he had seen a fairer elf maiden anywhere in the Nine Realms. 

‘My Lady,’ Loki said, giving a slight bow, unsure of what she wanted. 

‘Loki of Asgard,’ she returned with a graceful curtsy. ‘Forgive my intrusion. My curiosity would not wait. I am Arwen, daughter of Lord Elrond.’ 

‘No forgiveness necessary, Lady Arwen,’ Loki said. He gestured to the table and chairs he had been seated at when she arrived. ‘If you wish to question me, why don't we sit down?’ 

‘I do not mean to interrogate you,’ she said, even as she walked to the chair and sat. Loki seated himself opposite. She smiled at him, but Loki suspected it was for his benefit, to put him at ease. Why did she think he needed calming? ‘They say you are the one who fell with the star, and that you are neither elf nor man.’ 

‘Yes.’ 

‘What are your people like, if I may ask?’ 

‘I am of Asgard, and Asgardians are… more elvish than human in abilities, I suppose, but hardier, stronger, and I suspect not quite as long-lived.’ 

‘Is your world a cold one?’ 

Loki’s heart skipped a beat, but he used all his skill not to let it show. 

‘It is much the same in temperature as Middle-Earth. Why do you ask?’ 

‘You are very cold,’ Arwen said with that same smile. ‘I felt it even before I found you in the crowd. It is a very strange cold. You keep it hidden, I think. Are you afraid of it?’ 

‘I hide nothing,’ Loki said. ‘Why do you ask these things?’ 

‘Lord Elrond told me not to,’ she said, her eyes showing a flicker of disappointment. ‘I have spent the last centuries in a place called Lothlorien. I have meditated there, walked the forest of our most sacred trees, and gazed into a mirror that showed me many things that might come to pass.’ 

‘Did it show you me?’ Loki had to ask, fascinated despite his growing apprehension. 

‘It showed me winter,’ she said softly, her smiles all gone. ‘Endless winter.’ Loki felt the hairs on his arms stand, a shiver down his spine. ‘It showed me despair as I have not known, from a grieving mother.’ 

‘I can not guess what your visions might mean,’ Loki said. ‘I have little faith in foresight.’ 

‘Your sadness pains me,’ she said suddenly. Loki could not look her in the eye. ‘I think I have felt it since you fell.’ 

‘Please, My Lady, do not trouble yourself with my sadness. I will return home, and my visit here will be but as a dream.’ 

‘Show me your true colour,’ she asked, leaning forward slightly. ‘I see it in my mind. More blue than the deepest ocean.’ She seemed almost admiring in her description of it. 

‘I have no other colour than this,’ Loki said, rising abruptly, far more disturbed than he had been when Thranduil had approached him with the same proposition. He had not sensed this level of magic in her, but it was clear she possessed some innate gift of insight. She slowly followed suit, her smile back on her face. 

‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘I will leave you.’ Loki bowed when she passed him, and so he was not prepared when she suddenly reached out and grabbed his bare forearm. He wrenched himself free even as she cried out and pulled her hand back, cradling it with the other. She stared at her hand, and Loki realised it was blackened. 

He glanced aghast down at his arm, where her hand had left his skin blue, but it was already fading back into its normal colour. He feared, sickened at the thought, that her hand would not fade back. 

‘Forgive me,’ she said again, her voice pained. Loki’s mind was a whirl, and he stormed out of the room. He knew guards were following him, but he did not listen to see if they were running to catch him. He hurried into the gardens, past where the paved pathways ended and into the tended woods. There were no great trees there, so he would not be well hidden, but the undergrowth gave some cover as he found a stream to sit by. Perhaps it was the stream that fed his pool. 

In his mind’s eye all he could see was the hand of the Jotun who had first taken hold of him on Jotunheim to reveal his true nature. Volstagg had been frostbitten by their touch, but Loki had not. And now the Lady Arwen had felt his icy skin and been burnt for it. He felt as though she had teared off his pale skin to reveal his grotesque secret. 

He had burnt her fair skin, now perhaps forever it would bear his mark. The thought made him wish to empty his stomach, but he closed his eyes and weathered the nausea. He realised he did not wish to fight these beings, but he knew he could not let himself be imprisoned. 

He did not know how much time passed, but eventually he heard someone approach. They were alone, and judging by their steps they were cautious. Loki looked up, surprised to see Lord Elrond himself slipping between the trees to stand across the small stream from him. He looked grim, but not terrifyingly angry, as Loki had expected. Loki remained on the ground, showing he meant no immediate threat. 

‘Arwen’s hand is recovering.’ 

Loki let out such a great sigh of relief, he had to gulp in air to replace it, his eyes watering. He had not marked her for eternity! He bowed his head for that tiny miracle. 

‘The healers say it was frostbite. Arwen said she saw a coldness in you. Is this the nature of your people?’ 

‘No,’ Loki said. ‘I am not like my people. I am not one of them.’ 

‘Did they cast you out?’ 

‘I cast myself out.’ Loki had not meant to say the words, but they slipped from his lips. 

‘I see.’ 

‘I am Jotun. A frost-giant, from a world of ice and monsters. But I did not know my heritage. My mother raised me as her own, and my father,’ Loki spat the word, ‘concealed my true form.’ Elrond took in his information with an unreadable expression. 

‘You have not made any threat to my people, or any in Middle-Earth as far as I can tell,’ Elrond said levelly. ‘Arwen says it was she who grabbed you. I will not blame you for that, but you must learn to control this nature.’ 

‘I don't know how,’ Loki said, despair creeping into his voice. ‘I have only turned my true colour when a Jotun touched me, or by some outside magic, like- like King Thranduil’s.’ 

‘He changed you?’ Elrond sounded surprised. 

‘Yes, but I did not burn him,’ Loki declared forcefully. 

‘It is fortunate he is on his way here.’ 

‘What?’ Loki looked up. 

‘I have summoned a meeting of the White Council. He elected to come himself instead of sending an emissary. He will be here in a few days time. In the mean time, I ask you to not to touch anyone.’ 

‘You will not imprison me?’ 

‘No,’ Elrond said. ‘Your guards will keep close watch, but I do not seek to punish you. Arwen was… hasty in her confrontation.’ 

‘Please tell her I am sorry.’ 

‘I will.’ Lord Elrond departed silently. Loki wasn't sure how to feel. Relieved, afraid, thankful? He dared not feel anything, he decided. 

All he knew was that King Thranduil was on his way, and perhaps he could show the others that his touch did not always mean the sting of ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra notes: The White Council met several times over the centuries, and is generally thought to consist of Elrond, Galadriel (and Celebrimborn), Saruman, Gandalf, Radagast, Cirdan the Shipwright (he is in the LotR movies twice briefly, once when he gets one of the Rings of Power, and at the Grey Havens at the end), Thranduil and maybe Glorfindel. They met for the last time in III 2954 (yes, I had to look that up, I’m not that much of a nerd) when they discussed the Necromancer. Gandalf was already then worried Saruman might covet the One Ring. 
> 
> ps: more shameless smut in the next chapter, coming soon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See Extra Notes at the bottom for those who have only seen the movies, or only read LoTR, and want a bit of extra info :) If any book-experts read this, do feel free to correct me. I try to double check my memory with various encyclopedias, but sometimes I'm lazy :)

The weather improved steadily as they traversed the forest, though they would not have known it if not for Thranduil’s scouts, who climbed the trees and told them. The elven road was crooked and overgrown, and the dark magicks of the forest could easily ensnare less wary travellers. Thor was often distracted by it, unused to fighting subtle magic. Frigga made sure to pull him back to the path and help him focus. 

He was relieved to be out, and Frigga had to agree. The lands of Thranduil were not well tended. Their company, though more encumbered than their original number now the King was with them, made good time. 

They reached the foot of the mountain late in the day, and the scouts returned to caution against continuing in the dark. There were strange noises in the mountains they said. The goblins were restless. 

Thranduil stared long and hard at the mountains, standing a small distance from the camp. Frigga and Thor ate by the fireside in silence. She tired to see what Thranduil saw, but the Misty Mountains were true to their name, and her gaze could not penetrate them. Was Loki just beyond? Was he hurt or sad? She tried not to let her despair cloud her judgement. 

‘We will set off before dawn,’ Thranduil announced as he returned to the camp. 

‘Sir, the Goblins-’ 

‘Will have returned to their caves before we reach them,’ Thranduil dismissed. He made to enter his tent when Frigga rose, catching his attention. 

‘Have you seen something?’ 

‘I have no great gift for seeing what is far away,’ he told her, ‘I merely wish to reunite you with your son as soon as possible.’ He gave a short bow of the head as a sign of goodnight, which she returned, but she did not believe him. 

She was right not to, though she might not want to know what Thranduil was feeling. He could not sleep for fear for Loki. Something had happened. A feeling of fear and longing had been growing steadily as they made their way west. He had not the gift to see Loki in his mind, but their act of connection allowed him to sense something if he put all his powers to it. It seemed he used his powers for nothing else since his departure from his home. 

Before dawn the camp was packed up, and they began climbing the winding road. The sun shone on the eastern slopes soon enough, but with the narrow valleys and gorges they had to traverse, they were more often still in darkness. It made his warriors uneasy. 

Halfway up one of these shadowed turns in the road, one of his scouts - one of two who had gone ahead - hurried down the path. 

‘My King, the goblins!’ he cried. All his warriors drew their weapons at once. They were five in total, three behind Queen Frigga and Prince Thor, and two in front. ‘The goblins are mad with rage, My King,’ the scout panted as he reached them. ‘Crazed even for their kind.’ 

‘Stand ready,’ the King told his company, drawing his own sword. ‘How many?’ 

‘Too many to count,’ the scout said. ‘They spilled onto to road, many falling to their deaths in their pursuit of us.’ This was crazed, the King thought. Goblins treasured their own lives just as much as any creature. To be so enraged as to be completely mindless was rare, even for goblins. 

They heard them first; the slap of bare feet, the scratching of claws, and the clink of metal on rock, only it was coming from behind them. The company turned to see a similar band scrambling up the pass behind them. 

The sun was too low to reach their position for half an hour at least. Perhaps they could keep them at bay until then - or perhaps their rage led them to defy even the sun. 

There was only space for two warriors abreast. Prince Thor stepped forcefully towards the pack coming from below, as they would reach them first. He started spinning his hammer, planting his feet like he was a mountain about to stand against a wave. 

‘Thor, careful!’ Queen Frigga cried, her own sword at hand. ‘Do not strike the mountain! You might bury us all!’ Thor glanced at her and nodded, before meeting the pack of goblins single-handedly, striking them like flies one by one, flinging them from the mountain side. 

Thranduil had to turn his attention to the second pack coming from above. They seemed to move as one grotesque beast, scrambling like ants over one another to reach them. His warriors stood firm and met the onslaught well. Thranduil stuck his sword in between them at every opportunity, and knocked those who tried to climb around into the chasm below. 

He heard Prince Thor’s roars of rage as he fought, and understood well, for he knew firsthand how annoying goblins could be. As he slit the throat of a sneaky one that had rolled between the legs of one of his warriors, he glanced behind him and saw how Thor swung his hammer. He was filling the entire path with his wide swings, and the goblins were hesitating to attack, but the ones behind were pushing those in front forwards into the path of the hammer. 

Frigga was spearing several goblins crawling over the rocks to get at her. 

Thor was getting extremely agitated. He swung harder and harder, and suddenly, Thranduil knew he would lose his temper. The goblins crawled closer, getting past the reach of his swing by being many and small. He growled at them, kicking them away, but more and more came upon him. His usual strategies were clearly not working. 

He lifted the hammer high, and Queen Frigga opened her mouth to warn him, but he had already struck the rock beneath him. 

The hit vibrated through the mountain, and all of them, goblins and elves alike, froze. A thunderous crack was heard, and Thranduil cast his eyes to the mountain top. A slab of rock slid lose, falling and breaking apart as it rolled and fell towards them. Thranduil thought his death was upon him. 

‘To me!’ Queen Frigga cried. The elven warriors did not hesitate at her strict command, and Thranduil came near. Thor seemed frozen, eyes to the rocks he had created. The goblins were scrambling to get away. ‘Thor!’ Finally, the Prince came near, standing by her left shoulder, gaze still fixed above him, as were all of them. Queen Frigga raised her arms and Thranduil felt the swirl of powerful magic around them. Their group pressed themselves as one against the side of the mountain. As the rocks fell almost onto them, they were instead pushed away by her invisible power, slipping just past them with only inches to spare. 

As the massive boulders crashed around them, the world went dark, so many were they. The noise was deafening, but Thranduil could hear Queen Frigga’s cry, filled with desperation and rage. She was barely managing this feat of magic. Had their party been one man larger, her shield would not have encompassed them all. 

When the last of the rocks passed by them, Queen Frigga collapsed, and Thor caught her with an anguished ‘Mother!’ He lowered her gently to the ground. ‘Mother?’ 

She opened her eyes, and smiled with the last of her strength. ‘I am all right, just very tired.’ Her head fell back and she fainted. Thor bowed his head, probably in shame. 

‘My King,’ one of his warriors drew his attention to the road ahead. It was not completely destroyed, but it would be a very difficult climb. 

‘We must wait here until she recovers,’ Thranduil said. ‘Climb ahead to see how much is destroyed,’ he told the scout, ‘and see if the goblins escaped.’ He knelt by Queen Frigga. ‘Will she sleep long, do you think?’ 

‘She is strong, but she may need some time to recover from this,’ Thor said. ‘I am such a fool.’ 

‘Your temper is terrifying, but as of yet it has not doomed us. To doubt yourself now would only put you in further harm.’ Thor blinked at the unsolicited advice, but nodded and seemed to accept it. Thranduil ordered his warriors to set up a small camp as best they could, and to make a bed for Queen Frigga to rest. 

He tried to ignore his own urgency, and let her recover in her own time. 

XXX

Loki spent his days alone after the incident with Arwen. The elves looked at him strangely when he walked among them, so he had taken to returning to his little stream to sit in solitude. Sometimes he brought an elven book with him and attempted to learn more of their language. It was not a fruitful endeavour, as the language elluded all his usual tricks of translation even in written form. 

He was still invited to dine with Lord Elrond, but when he accepted these invitations Arwen did not attend. One evening he had heard no word at all, and he could feel there was unease, or some sense of urgency about Rivendell. The elves appeared to come and go much quicker, and gossiped among themselves. 

Lindir arrived in the evening to bid him come meet with Elrond. The sky was red, but seemed more ominous than beautiful. Loki wore his now favourite long tunic in dark green, with a robe over made of fabric so fine it was half-transparent. 

Elrond was even more formal than Loki had until now seen him. He stood tall and grim in a small courtyard outside his palace. The place was framed by buildings on both sides, with a brilliant view of the valley straight ahead. Elrond wore dark blue, and had a kingly silver diadem on his head. Loki bowed in greeting. 

‘Lord Elrond, you wished to speak with me?’ 

‘Yes, I have two matters to speak with you about.’ He looked out over the valley. ‘Have you heard any news from anyone today?’ 

‘No, Lord Elrond, I have not spoken to anyone today.’ 

‘You did not hear any noise from the mountains?’ he asked. 

‘No, what noise should I have heard?’ 

‘Several of my people heard it, and my scouts tell me that a mountain top is missing a good chunk of rock. It is likely it has fallen on the pass, which may hinder the arrival of King Thranduil. My scouts are on their way into the mountains to see how the road stands now.’ 

‘That is very unfortunate,’ Loki said, trying not to let his despair show. The arrival of Thranduil had been to him like the breaking of a cage. He had been counting the days. He needed someone to touch- to make sure he could without hurting anyone. ‘What was the other matter?’ 

‘Two members of the White Council arrived this midday,’ Elrond said. ‘One of them is Mithrandir.’ Loki nodded in understanding, but kept his thoughts to himself. This wizard was the key to his return, but he was not likely to trust him after Alatar had betrayed him so easily. Also, if he elected to help Loki home before Thranduil arrived… 

‘He wishes to see you,’ Elrond continued, unaware of Loki’s hesitation. ‘With him came Lord Cirdan, of the Grey Havens far to the west.’ 

‘I would be more than happy to meet with them both,’ Loki said graciously. Elrond escorted him inside to a large oval shaped room. Across from the entrance was a large round table made of dark stone, at which were seated two men, with one chair between them. The room was high-vaulted, born by columns resembling trees, with large windows high on the walls to let in the light. The floor pattern was a swirl of excellent masonry with stones Loki could not name. 

The two men stopped speaking when Elrond and Loki entered, and rose. One was much like the blue wizard, only grey, and his wizard’s hat, sitting on the table, was brimmed and much larger. His robes were also made of a coarser fabric. His face was kind, obscured by much hair and beard, his features large and not very appealing. By his chair stood a wizard’s staff, but this one was more twisted than Alatar’s, though it bore the same sort of stone. 

The elf, Círdan, on the other hand, was very beautiful and peculiar at the same time. While Mithrandir exuded a vague sense of timelessness, the Lord of the Grey Havens had a heavy air of the ancients about him. He was unlike any elf Loki had yet seen, but perhaps they were all like that. 

His hair was long and silver like Thranduil’s, and while most was free-flowing, part of it was pulled into a small knot at the back of the head, encased in a small silver coronet. What was more unusual was the fact that he had a beard, which was long, straight and pointed to his chest. He had rougher features than Thranduil; a pronounced chin and a wider nose. He was no less beautiful and ethereal than the other elves, however, so his unique countenance only made him seem more ancient, as if from beyond time itself. His clothes were clearly made for travel despite their high quality; a blue thigh-length tunic and belt, dark brown trousers, high boots, and a thick cloak to match.

Both of these beings regarded Loki with undisguised curiosity. Lord Elrond gestured to Loki as he presented him. 

‘Lord Círdan, Mirthandir, this is Loki of Asgard,’ he said, ‘Loki, allow me to present Mithandir and Círdan the Shipwright, Lord of the Grey Havens.’ 

The three of them bowed shortly to each other. Loki was wary of them - it felt like he was about to be interrogated, which indeed he was. 

Elrond seated himself between his two guests, and Loki was seated across from the three. He was interviewed extensively on his fall from the sky, his travels across Middle-Earth, and the lands from which he came. He did not tell of the exact events of his fall, nor his exact interactions with King Thranduil, or indeed any interesting information about Asgard or the Nine Realms he did not deem safe to share. Elrond did most of the questioning, though Loki suspected the others had pre-arranged their questions. Mithandir spoke up several times to clarify points, mostly about Alatar’s role in the events since his fall. 

‘If Morinehtar the Blue has betrayed us, that is disturbing news,’ he said eventually, using his more formal name. 

‘What of his brother?’ Elrond asked Loki. ‘Did you hear anything of him?’ 

‘Alatar mentioned him, but only in passing. Nothing about his current whereabouts or activities.’ 

‘If he is still loyal to us, he may have information,’ Mithandir said. He rose abruptly. ‘If you will excuse me, Lord Elrond, Lord Círdan.’ He passed quickly by Loki with a subdued farewell. Loki glanced behind him as the wizard departed. They had not spoken of what Loki was seeking, but that must surely wait until this Council - whatever it was - had convened. Elrond and Lord Círdan were conversing quietly when Loki looked back, then Elrond rose suddenly. 

‘Please, excuse me as well,’ he said. Loki was at a loss as he was swiftly left alone with Lord Círdan, either by design or coincidence, Loki could not tell. The elf rose gracefully and Loki did the same as he rounded the table. 

‘Loki of Asgard,’ he said in greeting, his voice deeper than other elves. ‘It has been an age since I was here in Imladris. Perhaps you will help reacquaint me, as a newcomer yourself?’ 

‘Please, call me simply Loki.’ He hesitated. This Lord Círdan was more ancient than any being he had yet encountered. Who knows what this being saw when he gazed at him? ‘I would be happy to walk with you,’ he said, feeling rudeness would perhaps be the worst thing he could do under these circumstances. 

They went outside and walked silently, remarking only occasionally on the beauty of Rivendell. 

‘Are the Grey Havens comparable in beauty?’ Loki asked as they wandered the little paths through the tended forests, his guards a distant memory in the shadows. 

‘They are peaceful, hidden away in the corner as it were, but there is a sadness there that Imladris holds against.’ 

‘How do you mean?’ 

‘My people are departing these realms,’ Lord Círdan said. ‘Slowly, but surely over the next centuries, elves will leave Middle-Earth from the Grey Havens for our promised land of Valinor. I have never been there myself, but one day I will go there, and then there will be no more elves in Middle-Earth.’ Although Loki could not understand the full implication of Círdan’s words, he nevertheless felt acutely the sadness they conveyed. These elves communed with the land in a way the humans could not. The loss of them would mean less magic, less wonder. 

‘You would leave your home? Because destiny tells you to?’ 

‘I will go where my people go,’ Círdan answered with a small smile. ‘Without them not even the Grey Havens can be home.’ Loki frowned at the words. Círdan sensed his unease. 

‘Where are your people, Loki?’ he asked gently, stopping in their wanderings to look at him properly. He stood about the same height, but was slightly broader, and with his dark grey cloak squaring his shoulders, he seemed all around more substantial than Loki felt at that moment. 

The words made Loki realised Elrond must have spoken of his true heritage. He felt betrayed, but not surprised. He was no doubt considered a threat. 

‘In Asgard, Lord Círdan,’ he said, but his voice had lost some of its strength. He would be gone from this old creature. The air was growing heavy, but the elf was wielding no magic. 

‘Forgive me,’ Círdan said sincerely. ‘I do not mean to trouble you. I only sense that there are many unanswered questions within you.’ 

‘In that… you speak the truth,’ Loki said. He looked up and sought out the tops of the Misty Mountains in the light of the moon. They were breathtaking and formidable. Had Loki not come through them once before, he would have thought them impenetrable. 

‘Lord Elrond fears your power,’ Círdan said. 

‘Do you?’ Loki asked. He glanced behind them, noting where his guards were hidden. 

‘I can not imagine what harm you would wish upon us.’ 

‘That is not an answer,’ Loki said, frowning. Círdan sighed, hesitating. 

‘Your power is frightening because it is unknown,’ he said eventually. ‘There are those in Middle-Earth who would seek to control it.’ 

‘I would never allow such a thing.’ 

‘Even the purest have been corrupted, and you are not very pure.’ It was not an insult, and indeed Loki did not feel wounded. The frankness was refreshing. He nodded, thinking carefully on Círdan’s words. He could trust no one, not even himself. ‘I will trouble you no more,’ Círdan said abruptly, bowing. ‘But please, if you feel the need to speak with anyone, let me be your ear.’ Loki bowed in returned and watched as the curious elf disappeared into the night. He was neither judgemental nor naïve. An old being, full of patience, and yet an all the more imposing opponent because of it. 

XXX

Lord Elrond and Mithrandir awaited the last member of their half-Council. They stood on Lord Elrond’s private balcony, each with a glass of wine, though the hospitable gesture gave little joy to either of them. 

Círdan arrived without yet having changed, which told Elrond he had had an interesting conversation with their foreign guest. Elrond had them all seated at a small round table, ordering wine for his latest guest. 

‘I have sent several birds to Rómestámo the Blue,’ Mirthandir told them. ‘If he still resides in this world, we must hope he can explain Morinehtar’s actions.’ 

‘His corruption must have been long in coming,’ Círdan remarked, ‘being so swift to covet Loki’s power.’ Mithandir nodded in agreement, but Elrond looked uncertain. 

‘We know nothing of Loki,’ he said. 

‘He did not corrupt Morinehtar,’ Círdan said. ‘Why would he need to?’ 

‘We must hope my letters reach his brother,’ Mithandir said, a sentiment they all shared. 

‘How did your walk with him go?’ Elrond asked Círdan. 

‘He is at war with himself,’ the older elf said. 

‘He is dangerous,’ Elrond said, as if this was Círdan’s true meaning. ‘My daughter’s hand is still recovering. A strange creature, that burns cold at the touch. I have never heard of anything like it. Lady Arwen is fearful of him now. She will not lay eyes on him again, and I do not blame her. I suspect he was cast out by his people, and his arrival during such uncertain times is troubling…’ 

The other two took in this speech silently, but neither gave their thoughts on it. All were waiting for the Council to convene before giving their judgement. 

‘What exactly did you sense, Lord Círdan, when the star fell?’ Mirthandir asked, leaning forwards. ‘You left the Grey Havens immediately, and sought me out, why?’ 

‘I do not yet know,’ Círdan said. 

XXX 

Their party could continue around midday when Queen Frigga was steady on her feet again. Thor climbed in front of her, making sure he could catch her should she stumble. The elves moved easily, being used to slippery rocks. Although it had been a long time since Thranduil himself had climbed anything, he pitied Thor’s bulky frame and armour. Still, they managed to traverse the damaged part of the road without incident. 

On the other side they met Lord Elrond’s scouts, who had feared someone had been caught by the rockslide. Together, they made their way swiftly to Rivendell. 

It was night by the time they reached the Last Homely House. Since it was so late, hardly any elves had come out to greet them. But Lord Elrond himself was still awake at least. He had not lost all sense of manners. 

Thranduil hardly paid Lord Elrond any attention when he entered the courtyard. He was far too focused on seeking out Loki, but he could not find him in the crowd. He must be asleep. 

'King Thranduil,' Lord Elrond spoke louder, stepping forward. 'I welcome you and your company to Imladris.' They bowed briefly to one another as Lord Elrond studied the new arrivals. 

'I thank you, Lord Elrond,' King Thranduil returned. 'I bring with me Queen Frigga of Asgard, and Prince Thor. They have both come far to search for Prince Loki.' 

'Then it will be a joyous reunion,' Lord Elrond said, not showing the slightest annoyance at having to receive unexpected guests. He greeted Queen Frigga, and she thanked him for his hospitality towards her son, and asked how he was. He was fine by all accounts, but Thranduil sensed a deception in Lord Elrond. He knew something had happened, or else his this fear would not linger within him. Queen Frigga told them she would wait until the morning to see him. Lord Elrond arranged for rooms, food and other comforts, and soon the two strangers were ushered someplace they could rest. It was clear Lord Elrond had something to say to Thranduil, and since he had come all this way, he had to hear it, late as it was. 

'Allow me to escort you to your rooms,' Lord Elrond offered. Thranduil accepted. Imladris had spectacular views, but that was the only thing it had that his own halls did not. The summer air was warm even at night, and Thranduil already longed for the crisper coolness of his caves. 

'Mithrandir has arrived,' Lord Elrond said as they walked. 

'Do the Istari have the power to return them?' Thranduil asked. 

'We have not spoken of it yet. Lord Círdan arrived with him.' Thranduil paused briefly, curious. The Telerin elf had not left his harbour for many centuries. He had been sending emissaries to the White Council even longer than Thranduil had. In truth, Thranduil had missed his company, for he was of a similar mind on many subjects. Although Círdan's people were sea-lovers, both their peoples stemmed from the same root: those who had no desire to leave Middle-Earth for the light of Valinor. 

For him to come now, however, meant he must have seen something, or had some interest in Loki. An irrational jealousy stole over Thranduil. Lord Elrond gave him a questioning look, and Thranduil looked away. 

'There is one more matter I would ask you about before you retire.' 

'What is it?' 

'Loki has, by accident, burn my daughter's hand with cold. He said he had never done to anyone before, but that you had used your magic to reveal his true skin.' 

'Yes, what of it?' 

'He did not burn you?' 

'Not at all. His skin was cold, but hardly unbearably so.' Thranduil did not like the thought of someone touching Loki in such a way as to provoke a reaction. It had to be self-defence of some sort, an instinct that Lady Arwen had unhappily discovered. It was clear Lord Elrond did not see it that way. 'Have you imprisoned him for this offence?' 

'I told you, it was an accident. You think I would imprison someone for something done unconsciously?' 

'The ways of the Noldor are often inscrutable to me. You know then that Prince Loki is not of the same kind as his family?' 

'Yes, he spoke to that effect,' Lord Elrond said, ignoring the barb. They stopped in front of the house that would be his during his stay. 'He seems very eager to see you again. He must have had quite the effect on you, seeing as you gifted him with Aeglos.' Thranduil had wondered if Elrond would bring up that topic. He was almost happy to have provoked the half-elf into speaking of it so soon. 

'He needed a sword worthy of his skill, and need for protection. The Icicle seemed an appropriate gift.' 

'How fortunate you were in possession of it to grant it to him.' 

'Have you taken it from him?' 

'Our ways must truly be inscrutable to you if you think I would.' 

'Seeing as you think he is some monster you need to deal with, I have no idea what you would do,' Thranduil said. 'I have come here to ensure his fair treatment. That you may know freely.' 

'Why does he fascinate you so?' 

'Why does he frighten you?' 

'I am merely cautious. Let us discuss these things at the Council, where all may hear it.' 

'Agreed.' 

'Goodnight, King Thranduil.' 

'Goodnight, Lord Elrond.' 

XXX 

Loki woke up, but did not know why. The room was dark, with only moonlight through the balcony doors to help him see. His heart was beating faster. He sat up, feeling certain someone was in the room with him. Had they come to take him someplace secure? He summoned his magic, but at that moment King Thranduil stepped out of the shadows. 

'King Thranduil,' Loki said, all his tension draining out of him in surprise. He must have been sleeping heavily to have allowed someone to sneak up on him. 

'Prince Loki,' Thranduil greeted. Prince? How could he know that? Loki opened his mouth so ask, but Thranduil guessed his confusion. 'Queen Frigga and Prince Thor are here,' he said, coming close to the bed. Loki sat up properly, eyes wide. The king's words made no sense. 

'Here? Now?' 

'Yes.' Thranduil sat down by the edge of the bed. Loki's mind was a whirl. This was not possible. Why had they come for him? It made no sense. 'This upsets you, my Prince?' Thranduil's voice was low and close, and Loki knew at once he had to try, and so without even asking he reached out and lay his hand atop Thranduil's. Nothing happened, and Loki breathed a sigh of relief. Thranduil turned his hand and gripped Loki's. 'You are trembling.' 

'I cannot fathom why they have come for me,' Loki admitted. 

'Queen Frigga believes the bridge broke,' Thranduil said. 'And Prince Thor is keeping the truth from her deliberately.' Loki took this in with mixed emotions. Why would Thor and Odin keep the events on the bridge from her, if it only made her determined to find him? It was idiotic and inevitably counterproductive. Once she knew the full truth of what he had done- what he had almost done – she would wish to leave, without him. He stared at their clasped hands, amazed that Thranduil had come all this way. Why was he so relieved? Thranduil lifted theirs hands to his lips and kissed Loki's knuckles, sending shivers down Loki's spine. 'Let me see you?' he murmured. 

'No, please, don't,' Loki said. If he had to see that hideous colour now, he would do something drastic. 

'It matters not, your beauty shines no matter your colour.' Thranduil leaned forwards and captured Loki's lips. Loki reached up and put his fingers into Thranduil's hair, enjoying the way it cascaded over his arms. He wore nothing to bed, and so it was easy for Thranduil to slip his hand under the covers and touch him. Loki gasped into the kiss, then pulled back. 

'Stop-' he half-begged as Thranduil continued his ministrations. He fell backwards on the bed, arching as he pushed into Thranduil's hand. He reached out to pull the elf closer, but Thranduil stopped him, rising. Loki only then realised the King wore no crown. His loose hair shined in the moonlight. He slipped out of his robe; he was wearing nothing underneath. Loki stared his fill at the elf, casting out all other thoughts. Thranduil lifted the covers and slipped under, pressing close to Loki and kissing him. 

'Why did you come to me?' Loki whispered between kisses, not knowing if he meant this night or the entire journey itself. Thranduil did not answer, choosing instead to kiss down Loki's neck, his deft hands gliding over Loki's bare skin, going down to tease him every now and then until he was rife with need. 

'Let me have you?' Thranduil whispered. 'I have dreamt of nothing else on the long road here.' 

'Yes.' Thranduil gave him one last kiss in thanks, before gently guiding him to lie on his stomach. He examined Loki's back with his hands and mouth, mapping every inch. He found a sensitive spot at Loki's neck, and while he sucked on it, he slipped his fingers downwards to prepare for wider intrusions. Loki moaned, hoping he was not being too loud. Thranduil's fingers played him like an instrument. He let himself go almost boneless. 

Thranduil lay on top of him then, skin like silk, better than the covers by a thousand degrees. Loki had not let anyone spear him since his youthful days of folly, but he was not nervous in the least, so desperately needy had Thranduil's fingers made him. The elf nipped at his ear as he entered. Loki tilted his head to grant more access, pushing back for more. Thranduil put a hand on his hip to steady him, worried he might drive things along too quickly. 

'You feel warm enough,' Thranduil whispered, the words meant as a balm. Loki took them as such, but his mind was more busy with the feel of it all. The King began to take him with smooth thrusts, all of them one tenth too slow and too shallow, driving Loki's need to even greater heights. Loki began to push back, and theirs rhythms melded, urging each other on, climbing inexorably to the precipice. Loki bit his lip to keep from crying out, and Thranduil bit his shoulder to do the same. 

Their completion was not as smooth, both of them faltering and gasping perhaps loud enough for someone to hear. Thranduil collapsed on him, and they slowly fell silent. Loki felt the elf rub his face against Loki's back, leaving kisses here and there. He sighed, enjoying the weight of him. The elf slipped off eventually, rising from the bed immediately. Neither of them said anything as Thranduil got dressed. Before he slipped out, he leaned down and kissed Loki one last time. 

'When the last members of the Council arrive they will put your fates on trial,' he whispered. 'It would be wise to have more than one ally before then.' 

'Lord Elrond will never trust me-' 

'Lord Círdan might,' Thranduil said. 'He is the wisest and oldest of our kind yet living in Middle-Earth. He will listen.' Loki nodded, and then Thranduil was gone so silently, Loki wondered briefly if it hadn't all been a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra notes (Círdan): Círdan is one of my favourite characters simply because he never really does anything big. He's always there, working from the sidelines, or offering loyalty when needed. He is old! He might even have awoken with the first elves! On the first march west (before the sun had been made), his people stopped by the shores of Middle-Earth because their leader Elwë had gotten lost. During this time Círdan fell in love with the sea, and has remained on Middle-Earth's shores ever since. He is a Teleri, but also a Moriquendi, because he never saw the lights of the trees in Valinor. He was given the Ring of Power Narya, which he later gave to Gandalf. He has already done so in this story. 
> 
> Extra notes (Elrond): Thranduil makes a mental-jab at Elrond for being half-elven, which is true. He is the son of the half-elven Earendil (the source of the light Frodo uses in the movies!) and Elwing, also half-elven. His brother (the ancestor of Aragorn) chose to live the life of a mortal, while Elrond remained with his elven kin.


	6. Chapter 6

Loki awakened to sunlight and bird song. It took him several moments to realise that his dream had in fact been real, and that King Thranduil was in Rivendell. 

Along with his mother, and Thor. 

Loki rushed out of bed and dressed, hands beginning to shake. Should he say nothing of how he fell? Would Thor try and speak to him privately about it? Had perhaps he and Odin devised some scheme to keep the truth from Frigga? What if-

Loki went pale as his mind conjured more horrifying theories with every passing moment. What if Thor was here to ensure he would not return? Was that not better, after all? The Allfather had probably been most pleased when Loki let go. A problem had literally fallen from the Bifrost, to be thought about no more. Only Frigga’s motherly instincts had insisted upon searching for him, but neither the Allfather nor Thor would want him back. They thought him at best a nuisance, at worst an irredeemable monster. 

His bleak thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. He barely made it across the room, opening the door slowly with trembling hands. 

‘Loki!’ 

He was in his mother’s arms again. Her smell, her magic, the strength of her embrace and the softness of her touch, were all the same. Loki clutched her like a child. In that moment, the past was forgotten. He opened his eyes and saw that Thor closed the door behind them, leaving them alone. When he turned to them, he met Loki’s eyes, and to the latter’s surprise, there was sadness there, not resentment or fear. 

Thor came forward and added his embrace to theirs, his huge arms coming round the both of them. 

‘My son,’ Frigga murmured. ‘I knew you had to be alive.’ 

‘Mother,’ Loki whispered. Then, before he could seal his lips, ‘Brother.’ Thor’s embrace tightened. 

‘Brother,’ he answered. He pulled back to look at him, and slowly they all parted. ‘You are well?’ he asked. Frigga kept touching Loki’s face, as if tracing its contours to remember them better. Loki smiled at her as best he could. 

‘I’m well,’ he answered Thor. ‘These elves are very hospitable, though not very trusting.’ 

‘Yes, we’ve noticed,’ Frigga said, smiling tearfully. She touched his hair, then his shoulders, smoothing down the front of his tunic as if she had dressed him herself. ‘You look well in their garments,’ she commented. 

‘They are very comfortable.’ He looked to Thor. ‘You’ve left Mjølnir behind?’ 

‘In our room. The elves are restless when I’m armed among them,’ Thor said, grumbling slightly. 

‘You haven’t told them you can summon her,’ Loki guessed. Thor shrugged, as if to say “that is their problem”, and for a moment they were simply family again. Loki tried not to let the lump in his throat grow, and be thankful for the time he would have with Frigga at least. He wondered how Thor would do it. 

‘Has the Allfather sent a way for you to return?’ Loki asked. 

‘No,’ Frigga said. Loki’s eyebrows rose. ‘I convinced him our combined power would be enough, hopefully.’ 

‘I doubt he believed that,’ Loki said, but perhaps he had. ‘The wizards here might help us.’ 

They seated themselves on the balcony and Loki slowly explained everything that had occurred - excluding certain nighttime events. Frigga then relayed their journey to find him. Loki glanced at Thor for his reaction, but he was rather inscrutable, oddly enough. 

When it came to Thranduil, Frigga said many times she did not like him, or trust him, and Loki had to very carefully suggest he might be their only ally, simply because the King had taken a liking to Loki. 

In the middle of their long conversation, several servants brought them food none of them had requested. Thor complained about the lack of meat, hardly surprising, but Loki found himself discussing the flora and fauna he had observed so far. It was almost a pleasant morning. He even discussed the language with Frigga, and how its natural magic defied their translating ability. 

Loki did not have an opportunity to ask Thor why he was lying. The Allfather must have given him a lesson in deceit, for nothing in what he said or did hinted at him feeling anything other than relief at finding Loki. 

Loki showed them around Rivendell, and in the afternoon they returned to Frigga’s chambers. As they watched the sun set, King Thranduil himself arrived, his face cold compared to when last Loki had seen it. 

‘Queen Frigga, Prince Thor, Prince Loki,’ he greeted, giving a brief bow of the head. ‘The last Council members arrived this morning, and we have been in debate all afternoon. Your presence is requested.’ 

‘Is the news ill, since you come yourself?’ Loki asked quietly as they all walked side-by-side, Frigga and Thor some steps behind them, to Lord Elrond’s house. 

‘Not for you,’ Thranduil said. ‘They are helping you home, but I fear Middle-Earth will be a darker place when you leave, and it will not be your absence alone that is the cause.’ Loki glanced behind them, but Frigga either did not hear, or had chosen to pretend she had not. He gave Thranduil a warning stare, but the King merely quirked his lips. Before Loki could censure him further, they arrived at the meeting hall. 

XXX 

_Some hours earlier_

The White Council was gathered, without emissaries, for the first time in several decades. Lord Elrond presided, his guests seated around him at the circular, stone table. The Lady Galadriel was to his right, King Thranduil to his left. Next to Galadriel was her Lord Celeborn, then Saruman the White, Gandalf the Grey, and finally at Thranduil's left Círdan the Shipwright. The ordering was not exactly according to seniority, but more a reflection of certain members' priorities. 

Lord Elrond and King Thranduil had each presented their testimony about the newcomers, and all had given their feelings at the sight of the falling star. Círdan, whose opinion on such matters was considered of greatest consequence, was vague on the matter. He spoke only of a feeling of urgency. Likewise the Lady Galadriel, usually one of deep insight, could not discern any meaning from their sudden arrival. 

‘There can be no doubt,’ Lord Elrond said once the testimonies had been given. ‘We must aid these people out of Middle-Earth. Their presence is a distraction at best.’ 

‘And at worst a boon to our enemies,’ Gandalf the Grey said, nodding pensively. Lord Elrond had insisted the meeting take place at once, even without all the members having met the foreigners. 

‘But I would urge caution on one point,’ Gandalf continued. ‘Do not lay all your ill feeling on Prince Loki without just cause. I suspect much of our combined doubt is due to Sauron, and his growing evil.’ 

‘Sauron has not been heard from since we chased him from Dol Guldur,’ Saruman was quick to remind the Council. ‘Our fears over this Loki and his family are genuine. They must be removed.’ 

‘Sent home, you mean,’ Círdan spoke up, which surprised a few, as he seldom spoke in such meetings, especially not to correct another member. 

‘Of course,’ Saruman agreed. 

‘Prince Loki has great magic, and their people are accustomed to travel between worlds,’ Thranduil said. ‘Queen Frigga is also a great sorceress, but what they need is raw power, directed by them, to form one of their… gateways.’ 

‘Do the Istari possess such power?’ Celeborn asked. All looked to Saruman to answer. He considered for a long while. 

‘It is impossible to say without knowing how much is needed. But, for it to work they must come to Orthanc. The tower will be the best place to perform such a feat.’ 

‘Agreed, if we can help them, that is where our powers will coalesce,’ Gandalf said. 

Just then they were interrupted by Lindir. He came in urgently, bearing a scroll. 

‘Lord Elrond,’ he spoke. ‘A raven delivered this. It bears the seal of Gondor.’ 

Lord Elrond took the scroll, and at once all present sensed a foreboding. The sky outside seemed to cloud, the air thickened. Lord Elrond opened it, but at his first glance at the script, he dropped it on the table in front of him, taking a measured breath, and all could see his long years in his eyes. Thranduil reached for the scroll. Being no stranger to this darkness, he read the missive. As he finished, it was as if the whole Council had read its contents. All were silent, taking in the knowledge with absolute dread. At the bottom of the scroll, a symbol was drawn. 

A large, lidless eye. 

Thranduil handed the letter to Círdan, who barely glanced at it before giving it to Gandalf. The wizard read the letter quickly. 

‘Sauron has declared himself,’ he confirmed. ‘He has appeared as a lidless eye, and the fortress of Barad-dûr is complete. It is just as we feared. Our watchful peace has ended.’ 

Silence met this announcement. Thranduil’s first thought was to get his people home, but then he considered Loki. 

‘I must return to Isengard,’ Saruman said. 

‘He has not launched an outright attack yet,’ Gandalf said. ‘It may yet be years before his army is ready. He will be searching for the One Ring. We must consider our options.’ 

‘We must fortify ourselves, and discover the Ring before he does,’ Saruman argued. He rose, as if intending to leave for Isengard at that very moment. 

‘You must take Prince Loki and his family with you,’ Galadriel said. She looked to Gandalf. ‘You must help them home before they are ensnared in these events.’ The wizard nodded, but before he could ask whether she intended to return to Lothlorien, she answered him. ‘We will remain here a while longer.’ 

‘We should inform our guests,’ Lord Elrond said. He turned to tell Lindir to do so, but Thranduil rose abruptly. 

‘I will fetch them.’ 

Lord Elrond nodded his assent, but his eyes followed the King of Mirkwood suspiciously. 

The guests were led into the Council chambers by King Thranduil. All had risen in respect. Bows and introductions were led by Lord Elrond. Eventually all were seated, chairs having been brought in to accommodate the new guests. 

Lord Elrond also delivered the news that they would assist them, and that they must travel to Isengard to the south if they hoped to succeed. 

‘I thank the Lords and Lady of Middle-Earth for their hospitality and aid,’ Queen Frigga. All the Council members saw and felt her power and caring. Galadriel especially felt the calm storm within her. The physicality of Prince Thor led some members to dismiss him as merely a weapon. They had heard descriptions of his hammer, but none in Middle-Earth had seen its true power, and Thranduil’s account of their passage over the Misty Mountains did little to impress anyone. 

As for Prince Loki, all eyed him, trying to see through his pale skin to the blue ice that apparently hid just below. Loki struggled to not look directly at Thranduil, lest his eyes betray the connection between them. He instead chose to focus on Círdan, who gave a small smile of greeting. Thranduil for his part stared his fill. If he tried to hide his fascination, it would only lead to speculation that might hit nearer the truth. 

As Lord Elrond laid out their travel plans, Loki’s eyes drifted over to the Lady Galadriel. She met his surprised stare with kind eyes, but Loki knew at once they were deceitful. She was delicate and ethereal, but once Loki was captured by her gaze, he felt her power as hard and unyielding. 

_’Welcome, Loki of Asgard, and of Jotunheim,’_ her voice whispered in his mind, darkening his other senses. He saw an image of the vast ice-plains of Jotunheim, and heard the wind howling. 

_’How dare you invade my mind,’_ Loki whispered back, afraid she might see too much. He prided himself on his mental agility, but this attack had been wholly unexpected. The sudden feeling of acute empathy and guilt made him pause, however, as he realised the Lady was simply trying to understand him, in her own way. No doubt this trick rendered other lesser beings quite awestruck. 

_’I seek not to confound you, Prince Loki,’_ she whispered. _‘You are something new in the world, and therefore you are wonderful to me.’_

_’Would that all people of Middle-Earth could see me so,’_ Loki sneered mentally. _’I should be halfway home already if that were the case. Instead I am greeted with suspicion and this trial by Council.’_

 _’And hospitality,’_ Galadriel rebuked him softly, and Loki shivered as he saw the welcoming gaze of King Thranduil. She knew, he understood, but she did not judge, nor did she suspect him of manipulating the King. _’Your power is a fearful thing, that is undeniable. All three of you possess power useful to our enemy. I seek merely to warn you that his servants come in all guises.’_

 _’You mean the Darkness to the south?’_ In answer, Loki saw a terrible scene unfold. Vast armies clashing, countless dead, and Sauron the Deceiver standing over it in all his glory. Loki saw this demon destroyed at great cost, and witnessed the long march of the Watchful Peace across time. Like a dawn breaking the night, the Lidless Eye blinked into existence and set true fear alight again in all corners of Middle-Earth. Loki beheld the Eye, and was afraid. Sauron appeared to him as a being of pure evil, and ancient. Asgard had legends of their own of such beings, but none who lived openly to issue threats. 

A different image came to him, one from the recesses of his own mind. It was not drawn out by Galadriel, and Loki hesitated in showing it to her. It came from a moment in the bowels of the Misty Mountains. He had been about to make a choice, left or right, and there had been a shadow, in the shape of a man. The same terror that had gripped his heart for half a second then, now returned to him in greater force. Galadriel saw, and confirmed it: Sauron had spied him from afar. How well he could see Loki now, if at all within the walls of Rivendell, she did not know. She dared not guess what he could desire from Loki, or if he was actively seeking him out. 

Go home, she urged, go home before it was too late. 

‘Loki?’ It was Queen Frigga’s voice that drew him from his secret communication with Galadriel. He glanced at his mother, raising his eyebrows as if he had simply misheard her. She asked him if he was feeling well, and he said yes, but Frigga was no stranger to mind-games. Her eyes were drawn to Galadriel, and she narrowed them slightly as a warning. The Lady Galadriel gave a small bow of the head in apology. Loki placed his hand in Frigga’s under the table to assure her of his being fine. He had not been held captive by anything except his own curiosity. Frigga accepted this, and was soon distracted by the other Council members, their interview nearing its conclusion. 

Preparations to leave were to be made immediately. They would leave by first light of day. 

‘I am grateful at the thought of returning home as swiftly as possible,’ Queen Frigga addressed the Council. ‘But is there some need to make haste besides that?’ 

Loki glanced again at Galadriel, and it confirmed that the images she had shown him were the reason for the Council’s unease. He was not as frightening to them as he had supposed. There were far greater threats on these people’s minds. The knowledge was not very comforting, for now Loki shared their fears. 

‘There is a threat,’ Lord Elrond answered. ‘But it is far away yet.’ 

‘He is Sauron the Deceiver,’ Círdan spoke, drawing looks of censure from other Council members. He looked only at the foreigners with kind eyes, but his voice was grim. ‘He is amassing an army within his borders far to the south in Mordor. We do not believe he will be a threat on your journey, but dark times are coming to this land, and it would be best for all if you departed swiftly, for your own safety.’ 

‘And yours,’ Queen Frigga finished. Círdan merely nodded in agreement, a sad smile gracing his lips. He was sad to see them go, Loki realised, as was Galadriel. They would had liked to give their trust, if the world had been a more peaceful place. 

No more was said on the matter, and the meeting was concluded. Dinner was a very subdued affair, with neither faction being very keen to share. Luckily, their cultures shared the skill of small-talk, and Queen Frigga was a master of it. Thor was excused early, and Loki spied him later as he walked back to his rooms, conversing with elven warriors from Rivendell around fires in the night. He even thought he saw Estel among them. 

XXX

Loki’s night was a short one, and he was mounted on a beautiful white steed by first light of day. He was very happy to have his sword back, which Lord Elrond had given him with a sour look on his face. He was back in his armour, with a green cloak for travel, and an extra thick one for rain in his saddle bags, both gifts from Lord Elrond. Frigga and Thor were close by, each on their own mounts. Thor was in a very foul mood, as Frigga had insisted he wear the green cloak, since it was a gift. He did look odd in such subdued colours. 

They were being escorted by three Rivendell warriors. Gandalf had mentioned something about a small party being an advantage. Saruman said little, and his steed looked as ill-tempered as he. 

They were ready to set out from the main courtyard, when one last horse was led from the stables. Who would be the last to join them? 

‘King Thranduil,’ Gandalf called in greeting, casting all eyes to the stairs, where Thranduil descended in full travelling gear. ‘Are you returning to Mirkwood?’ 

‘No, Mithrandir,’ King Thranduil answered as he took the reigns from the servant. 

His hair was worn free-flowing except for two small braids from his temples. His silver diadem was of beautiful knotwork, yet smaller than any Loki had yet seen. He wore a knee-length grey tunic with silver leaf-like buttons, and brown trousers. Over this he had a metal shoulder-guard and vambraces with similar knotwork patterns on them. His gauntlets, not worn at the moment, but instead stuffed into his belt, were leather, as were his greaves. Although he was ready for travel and battle if needed, and the clothes were well-worn, he looked no less kingly. His belt held his sword and smaller blade, and on his back was strapped a bow. A servant attached heavy saddle-bags - did the King mean to travel without retainers? 

‘Do you fear attacks already, King Thranduil, to travel so armed?’ Saruman asked with an arched eyebrow. ‘We had a very peaceful trip north. The news of late will not change that, I wager.’ 

‘I do not fear Orcs,’ Thranduil said with a smile. ‘But I feel an overpowering responsibility for my guests.’ He nodded to Frigga, Thor and Loki, the latter with a secret smile. ‘Mine was the first roof they slept under, and as such, I feel it is my obligation to escort them safely home as far as I can go.’ 

‘We are well escorted already, Your Majesty,’ Queen Frigga said. ‘Surely, your Kingdom needs you more than us?’ 

‘My son has Mirkwood well in hand,’ King Thranduil countered gracefully. ‘I beg you to indulge an old elf’s notion of duty.’ He gave a bow from horseback. Frigga eyed him a moment, before she urged her horse on, and her movement became the signal to depart. 

XXX 

It would take over a month to travel from Rivendell to Isengard. Loki had not travelled so far on horseback since he was a young man out hunting. They kept the Misty Mountains to their left, and the road was well-maintained for the most part. Saruman led the way, with Gandalf directly behind. Frigga, Thor and Loki followed, with King Thranduil and the warriors last. 

This side of the Misty Mountains were having a bountiful summer. There was no sign of sickness like in Mirkwood. The people they passed were more curious than cautious. And once they saw the elven banners, they often came forward for a closer look. When they stopped for water and supplies, they often found it difficult to pay. Saruman and Gandalf were revered among the people here, and the sight of King Thranduil drew almost as many odd looks as the newcomers. They had not seen an elven King in many a man’s age. 

There were stretches without a farm or hamlet, however, sometimes for days on end. Although the scenery was always beautiful, the road would eventually become tedious. 

Except for the nights. Loki’s nights would never be tedious again. 

Their very first camp was on a good field by the road. It had an old fire pit, probably in use by travellers for years. The warriors were quick as servants as well, for in no time at all the camp was set up. The tents were set in a wide ring, the entrances towards the centre where the fire was lit. There was more than enough space between the tents for three men to walk abreast, so it looked like a tiny village. Saruman and Gandalf ate alone, probably exchanging their observations. 

To save time and weight, Loki had readily agreed to share a tent with Thor. He had always done so when hunting, but the reality of it was different now. They had not had a moment alone together, either by accident or design, Loki could not guess. If Thor was purposefully avoiding him, he needed do little work. Between Frigga and Thranduil, Loki was never without a partner along the road. 

Loki made sure to pretend to be asleep when Thor came in. He had been conversing with the warriors - no doubt showing off his hammer. That was probably what the laughter Loki had heard had been about. Thor took off his armour, but otherwise slept clothed. He settled on the small bed, only five feet or so between them. Loki hoped he would not speak. 

What if he had no intention of speaking? He might do the deed right away, to get it over with. But surely Odin had advised him to make it look like an accident? 

‘Loki,’ Thor whispered. He held his breath for an answer. ‘Please, speak to me.’ 

‘What would you prefer I say?’ 

‘Anything,’ Thor begged. 

‘Why haven’t you told Mother?’ 

‘Father said it would only hurt her. She knows you found out about-’ he fumbled for the right word. 

‘My monstrosity?’ 

‘Your heritage,’ Thor managed. This Loki knew, but he was surprised that Thor and Odin had spoken with her about it. He had assumed they would have preferred Frigga be kept in the dark about this also. ‘We explained you became- agitated, and that we fought on the bridge, and that it broke.’ 

‘Is that all?’ 

‘Yes.’ 

So, she did not know how in his madness, Loki had tried to fix everything by destroying Jotunheim. His attempt at genocide was still a secret. She also did not know that he had, in his failure, decided to fix himself by ending his life. 

‘Does she know your true intention?’ Loki asked. 

‘My what?’ Thor sat up in his bed. 

‘What did the Allfather tell you to do, exactly? I have no intention of fighting you, if that is what you fear.’ 

‘Loki, your words make no sense.’ 

Loki sat up. ‘Please, don’t do it tonight, whatever your plans. Let me have some time with her.’ 

‘Loki,’ Thor snapped, his voice almost loud enough to draw attention. Loki stared at him, surprised at the anger he saw. ‘My only objective is to bring you and Mother safely home, is that clear?’ It was spoken so sincerely, that Loki almost believed him. It was a lie worthy of himself.

‘I need to take a walk,’ he said, rising. Before Thor could protest, he held up his hand. ‘Please, I will not stray far from camp. There is no danger here this close to Rivendell. I will be back soon.’ He slipped out of the tent, being so silent that the warriors by the fire did not even glance in his direction. He did not understand Thor, or Odin, or himself. 

He walked along the circle of tents. As he passed by the one he knew to be Thranduil’s, a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. Before he could utter a protest, he was already inside, held tightly against Thranduil’s chest. The elf looked down at him as if he had caught a prize. 

‘There you are. You have kept me waiting,’ he whispered. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Loki’s neck. 

‘Please, don’t,’ Loki said, pushing at him. Thranduil stepped back at once, eyes raking over Loki to see whatever troubled him. 

‘What’s the matter?’ 

‘Nothing, let me go.’ 

‘I would not try to stop you.’ 

Loki turned, but then hesitated. He glanced back at Thranduil. The elf was merely observant. Before he lost his nerve, Loki confessed. 

‘I fear my brother means to murder me.’ 

‘Why?’ 

‘It would be best for everyone if I did not return to Asgard.’ 

‘You are welcome to remain in Mirkwood.’ Loki closed his eyes and shook his head at the jest, though Thranduil had spoken it poorly. He felt the King’s hands on his shoulders, then embracing him. ‘While Prince Thor does seem a bit oafish-’ Loki snorted at the description. ‘I sense no malice in him. He was as dedicated as Queen Frigga in their quest to find you.’ 

‘I can not believe it.’ 

‘Why not?’ 

Loki, his eyes still closed, saw himself as he truly was. Monstrous and cold. Odin appeared in his mind. _”No, Loki.”_ A condemnation, and a sentence, had been uttered on that bridge. Whatever plans Odin had had for Loki, they had been smashed. It would be best if the frost giant went back to the cold dark from whence he came. 

The vast cold of space should have swallowed him. Cold, he thought- he was truly cold! He realised it with a start, his eyes snapping open. He had changed, he was blue, by his own will alone. ‘You are learning your powers,’ Thranduil murmured. Loki looked up at him, so close, and yet completely unafraid, as always. Thranduil touched his cheek. ‘Tell me what troubles you.’ 

‘I could burn you,’ Loki said. Thranduil merely smiled. 

‘Do you wish to burn me? Are you afraid of me?’ 

‘No, of course not.’ 

‘Then you will not.’ 

‘You can not comprehend what this means,’ Loki argued, his anger growing. ‘I am _Jotun_. My whole life is a lie. It is fitting, really. On some worlds I am known as the Lie-Smith. A master of trickery and disguise.’ 

‘Your mother and brother have travelled across the stars to find you,’ Thranduil said. ‘Is that also a lie?’ 

‘Mother is being misled, and Thor-’ Loki had no more words to say on the matter. Thranduil’s touch was soft, soothing his nerves. The King’s ministrations took on a leading note, and Loki followed. They kissed passionately, and Loki weaved magic about them to stop anyone from entering their tent. 

He was on the bed when he realised he was still blue. They lay side-by-side on the small bed, which was far from the usual luxury a King was wont to travel with. Thranduil did not seem to mind, and the smallness of the bed certainly did not bother them. 

Distracted by the blue’s persistence, Loki tried to rid himself of the colour with his mind. Thranduil was undressing them, but when Loki became inattentive, he took hold of the hand Loki was staring at. 

‘Relax,’ Thranduil whispered. He brought the hand to his lips, kissing the blue fingers one by one as he spoke. ‘You are too high-strung to control it.’ He sucked on Loki’s little finger. 

‘You seem to know an awful lot about this,’ Loki gasped, his toes tingling. Thranduil’s smile was wicked. ‘You aren’t- You are not the cause-?’ 

‘My magic has no part to play in this.’ He placed Loki’s hand on his chest, urging him to join in their coupling again. Loki pushed all thoughts of his Jotunness from his mind, and once again allowed Thranduil’s skill to distract him. 

They lay naked together, and Thranduil took him in hand firmly. Loki bit his lip to keep himself quiet. His magic would protect them somewhat, but it might also arouse suspicions. He made a great effort to keep his eyes closed. He could not know how beautiful he appeared to Thranduil in that moment, blue or not. He was a creature like none other the King had ever seen, and thrice he had consented to share his bed.

Thranduil kissed him deeply, their tongues cold and hot against each other. Thranduil unconsciously traced the markings all over Loki, sending shivers up and down. They touched each other in an unrushed manner, their moans cut short to keep from being too loud. They were completely tangled by the time they finished. As their passions slowed, they lay breathing each other’s breaths. 

‘You are pale again,’ Thranduil said eventually. Loki gave a half-hearted glance down at himself, but otherwise did not move. He wished he could sleep in this tent instead. Thranduil kissed his shoulder, as though he knew exactly what he was thinking. With how unguarded Loki was becoming in his presence, perhaps he did. He had not the strength of will to care. There were far more likely threats to deal with. 

When he returned to Thor’s tent, his brother was mercifully asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra note (Sauron, possible SPOILERS for the last Hobbit film, though these events do take place between books, and the movies have already changed stuff around a bit): Sauron is a Maiar, a lesser god basically, but much more powerful than the Istari (also Maiars). In The Silmarillon, he is a lieutenant of Morgoth (who is the evil God in the pantheon). Between The Hobbit and LotR, he openly declared himself resurrected in III 2951, which was when he became seen as the Lidless Eye. (For context, the LotR books happen in III 3018/19.) He started breeding Uruk-hai and rebuilt Barad-Dur, which in this story had already been (almost) completed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will start to differ markedly from canon in this chapter. I hope you enjoy it. :)

After the first night, Loki put Thor’s mission out of his mind. He was quite resigned to whatever Odin had planned, and decided that he would enjoy his time in the company of Mother and King Thranduil. It was not like him to be complacent, but considering his life should have ended after his fall from the Bifrost, it was difficult not to think of every day as one last trick. 

The Misty Mountains were impenetrable on their left, and the road, now barely a path, was slowly becoming a nuisance. Loki had it from Gandalf one afternoon that there was no great road built south from Rivendell. People did not like to travel so close to the mountains. 

‘There is the Greenway,’ he said, ‘but that would mean a long way east before we get south.’ 

‘It seems to me Middle-Earth is greatly lacking in short-cuts,’ Loki said. They were riding next to each other. Thranduil was directly behind, discussing something with the Rivendell Captain who led the warriors. Frigga was speaking to Saruman, though from her stone-like shoulders, she was not enjoying it. Thor was at the rear, telling some tale to the warriors. 

Gandalf gave a humming laugh at Loki’s comment, nodding. ‘People here don’t see the point in going anywhere unless it is worth the time getting there.’ Loki raised his eyebrow at the folksy wisdom, but managed not to snort. 

‘I suppose your people are accustomed to getting everywhere quickly,’ Gandalf mused. ‘When one can travel across stars, being stuck on horseback must be tedious.’ 

‘Most of the Nine Realms use horses, or similar creatures, for most of their travelling by land,’ Loki said. ‘Very few ever travel to other worlds. Even export is limited compared to internal trade. People like to keep to themselves.’ 

‘Still, if such a bridge between worlds breaks, it is not a simple matter of finding another crossing, hmm?’ 

‘No, they are still repairing it.’ 

‘How did it come to break?’ 

‘I am no engineer,’ Loki said, trying not to sound too stiff. Gandalf must have sensed something, for he wisely changed the subject. 

Every evening Loki went to bed in his and Thor’s tent, and every night he visited the King’s. Sometimes he changed blue without even realising it, as though his Jotun self was drawn out by Thranduil’s touch alone. He reacted with less distress each time, but he would never be comfortable until Thranduil distracted him. 

As the days passed, and they moved further and further south, Loki felt as though a shadow was creeping up on them, or they were descending into darkness. He asked Gandalf if he felt it, and the wizard said it was due to Sauron’s renewed presence in Middle-Earth. Even the people with no magic of their own seemed to be withdrawing from them. There were no more farms or hamlets, and the road was barely there. If not for Loki’s keen sight, they might have been travelling in the wild. 

At what Loki reckoned to be a little less than halfway on their journey, they spotted the tallest mountain he had yet seen, rising far higher than its brothers that had come before. Thranduil told him it was Caradhras, or the Cruel, and by its sheer walls and snow-clad peak, it lived up to its name. 

‘Underneath, from its peak to far below the ground you stand on,’ Gandalf supplied from in front of them, ‘and under the mountains Celebdil next to it, and Fanuidhol, which you will spy further south tomorrow, lies the once greatest dwarf city, Khazad-dûm.’

‘It must have been enormous to lie under three mountains at once,’ Loki said, gazing up at the mighty peak with renewed interest. 

‘Indeed,’ Gandalf said. He spoke of the city’s wealth, of the strange silver known as mithril, and of its fall, and what the dwarf King Durin awoke. Loki could not help but shiver at the description. A Balrog sounded like a formidable creature, one comparable to any in the Nine Realms. As a result, Khazah-dûm was now known as Moria, the black chasm. 

‘King Thrór once attempted to reclaim it,’ Thranduil said, his tone telling Loki exactly what he thought of that foolish deed. ‘Orcs and trolls had taken up residence, and they fought a great battle on its eastern slopes, but all in vain. Their victory was hollow, and they had not the strength left to challenge the Balrog inside. It is said the orcs worship it as their deity.’ 

Loki thought he understood why the were so few people living in these parts. When he now gazed upon Caradhras, it loomed threateningly, and when the setting sun cast its last rays upon its peak, it glowed red. 

‘Will they ever try again, do you think?’ 

‘Doubtless,’ Thranduil said. ‘They are dwarves.’ Loki took him at his word. When Thor heard of this mighty creature, he said he would like to see it. Although the natives of this planet all thought he was joking, Loki had no doubt his brother would happily brave a swarm of Orcs to see a “worthy” adversary. Thor did not press the matter, however, once Frigga spoke to him, though Loki knew not what was said. 

They were a day’s distance south-west from the entrance to the Dwarf Kingdom, having given it a wide berth, when they came upon a dried up river. Only a trickle remained, and judging by its wide banks, it had once been a sizable flow of water from the mountains. 

‘What has happened to the Sirannon?’ Gandalf asked Saruman. The white wizard looked as sour as always, and he answered in a clipped tone. 

‘It has been dammed at the gates of Moria,’ he said. ‘Lady Galadriel’s scouts said a foul body of water had appeared just outside the doors. They dared not go near it. The dam itself was made by neither dwarf nor man.’ 

‘Strange,’ Gandalf said, following the trickle westward. ‘The water no longer feeds any great people. Why would Orcs care to kill the river?’ 

‘Who knows how Orcs think,’ Saruman dismissed, urging his horse on along the northern banks. They crossed eventually, and passed by ruins. Loki saw that they were once beautiful walls, too well-constructed for the people he had seen further north. 

‘They are elvish,’ Thranduil confirmed. ‘We are close to the once great city of Ost-in-Edhil.’ It seemed to Loki that all of Middle-Earth was dotted with “once” great places. 

‘That is what Gandalf meant, by the Orcs not needing to dam up the river.’ 

‘Yes, exactly. All the land here is empty, until you reach beyond the river Glanduin, I would assume.’ 

‘There is a foul stench in the air. The water is sick.’ 

‘I fear it will only get fouler the further south we go. Be glad we need not enter the land of Gondor.’ 

‘What of Isengard, Saruman’s seat?’ Loki frowned. ‘Does it not stand against Sauron’s shadow?’ 

Thranduil glanced ahead, indicating he could not speak his true mind. ‘Certainly,’ he said graciously. ‘Since Saruman took up residence there, Orthanc is a beacon of light in dark times.’ Loki nodded. Gandalf coughed just ahead of them, but Loki couldn’t be certain it was directed at them. They made camp on the southern banks, and Loki was impatient to get to Thranduil’s tent. Once inside, he pushed Thranduil’s advances off. 

‘Why are you suspicious of Saruman?’ 

‘You need not concern yourself,’ Thranduil said, stopping his ministrations, but not letting Loki get too far away. There was not much room to get away in the tent. ‘I should not have mentioned it. You will be far away by the time his true colours are revealed. Gandalf suspects, but he will not go against the head of his Order.’ 

‘What do you suspect?’ 

‘Nothing, yet. But he is a strange creature, and I do not like him.’ Loki shook his head. He agreed, but Thranduil was proving difficult to please, perhaps even more difficult than Loki himself. The King kissed him slowly, and Loki smiled into it. He plucked the diadem from Thranduil’s head, tossing it to the bed and sliding his fingers into the silken hair. 

‘Will you think of me?’ Thranduil whispered, moving his lips along Loki’s jaw, kissing his throat. ‘When you are home in Asgard?’ 

‘I doubt I will reach it,’ Loki said. 

‘Your family will prove you wrong.’ 

Loki pushed against Thranduil’s embrace, but the King did not let go, though he raised his head to look challengingly into Loki’s eyes. ‘Let not this difference of opinion come between us,’ he said. 

‘Then stop gainsaying me,’ Loki hissed. 

‘I wish only to protect you,’ Thranduil soothed. ‘Even from yourself.’ Loki had no response to that, and his gaze faltered. Thranduil pulled Loki to him so his head was on the King’s shoulder. 

‘Why do you care?’ Loki asked. 

‘Why do you visit my tent every night?’ 

‘Your tongue, mostly, and your fingers.’ 

‘I think you are in danger of losing your title, Lie-Smith, for that was very unconvincing.’ Loki turned his head and kissed Thranduil’s neck. It tasted incredible, and he sighed. The elf’s smell surrounded him, and he wished to be on his back, covered by bare skin, as quickly as possible. Bad thoughts would come in his dreams - it was pointless to name them while awake. Thranduil was right, disagreement was a waste of what little time they had left. 

He was just about to kiss him again when they heard a call from outside. Since first sighting Caradhras, the warriors had doubled their nightly watch. Now they heard one of them calling. 

‘King Thranduil! We are being surrounded!’ 

Luckily, neither had removed their armour, and both drew their swords and hurried outside. Frigga, Thor and the wizards were all in the centre by the fire, watching the perimeter. The warriors were spread between several tents. 

‘Where-’ Loki’s question needed no answer, for he heard movement in the forest. The horses tittered. The whistle of an arrow through the air signaled the beginning of the attack. Several more were shot, and most either missed their target or were stopped by armour or shield. Immediately after this volley, about two dozen Orcs tumbled out of the forest from the north-east. Loki turned to meet the onslaught, only to realise another group had somehow circled their camp and was attacking from the west. 

These Orcs were larger than the Goblins under the mountains in the north. They were crooked and bent like them, but their colouring was blueish and their armour more substantial. They attacked with purpose and strategy. 

Loki fought them easily enough, swinging wide and using his long limbs to his advantage. Since he wasn’t trapped this time on a narrow ledge, he could move, spinning out of the way of arrows and easily sidestepping their slower jabs. 

Thranduil fought beside him, and together they created a dance, piling the dead Orcs higher and higher at their feet. Loki did not hesitate in trusting Thranduil in their fight. More and more came from the forest, enough to make Loki think all of Moria was emptied. 

He glanced behind him and saw Thor swinging Mjølnir, catching several Orcs with each swing, a grin on his face. He might profess to have learned much during his exile, but he would never not glory in an honest fight. Frigga fought with an annoyed expression, striking each Orc as though it had personally insulted her. Gandalf also used a sword, though he sometimes blasted an Orc away with his staff. Saruman was behind three elven warriors, surveying the scene with disdain. 

A loud thumping was heard, signalling a heavier opponent. 

‘A cave troll,’ Thranduil said just before the beast leapt forward. It was an ugly, dumb creature, subdued by the Orcs by an iron collar and chain, carried by a large Orc. Thor was closest and he turned to face it. He began spinning Mjølnir, making it whistle. The sound was well-known in the Nine Realms, and would often cause lesser enemies to flee. This time, several Orcs covered their ears. 

‘Finally,’ Thor muttered. The troll roared, charging, ripping the chain from the Orc’s hands. Thor swung with all his might, striking the troll’s chin in an upwards motion and sending it sky-high. All combatants stopped to watch its trajectory. It travelled perhaps as much as thirty feet into the air, before landing in the middle of their camp, extinguishing their firepit. The scene, now lit only by the torches by the tents and a few the Orcs carried, froze. The troll was dead. 

Thor looked around him. ‘Any more?’ he asked, hopeful. Their camp was overflowing with dead Orcs, and the ones left finally realised they would not win by numbers alone. A horn was sounded, and they all fled, some scurrying over their brothers like ants. 

No one followed them. When one of the warriors suggested they finish them, Saruman decreed it pointless. 

‘There are countless more Orcs in Moria. They tried to loot us, and we will be too far off for them to try again tomorrow night.’ 

Loki thought it a very large force to go looting randomly with. They must have observed them for some time, and must have been able to gauge their strength somewhat, though of course they had underestimated it greatly. They must have thought the company had a great prize to risk so many so far from their doors. Loki did not ask, however, though he saw Gandalf looking pensive and wondered if the wizard was considering the same facts. 

Everyone except Saruman, who disappeared into his tent immediately, began throwing the Orcs on a pile some distance from the camp. 

During the work, Frigga stepped close to help Loki with an Orc, though he was strong enough to lift it himself. ‘Let me,’ she said, and grabbed its feet. Loki wondered how many Queens would do such work without flinching. These creatures smelled even fouler when dead. 

They threw it high up on the pile. 

‘You were not in your tent when the attack began,’ she observed. Loki glanced behind them, but everyone else was getting another body from the camp. ‘You were in King Thranduil’s.’ 

‘I was asking him about the area. I was feeling uneasy, and rightly so, clearly.’ He gestured to the pile. 

‘Saruman or Gandalf would be the more logical choice for that, considering King Thranduil’s home is so far away.’ She did not sound accusing, but Loki knew she would not drop it before he gave her an acceptable answer. 

‘I trust King Thranduil more,’ he said. ‘The wizards are far more secretive. But then, the first wizard I met betrayed me, and if not for King Thranduil, I might have been led astray.’ He gave a shrug. ‘I know you don’t approve, but my experience with him is different.’ 

‘I understand, but do not let his actions cloud your judgement.’ 

‘We will be home soon, and leave this planet to its conflicts.’ Loki smiled at her, and she returned it. They finished their work in silence. 

They rode through the night, slept a few hours on shifts, and rode through the day as well. By then, they were so far away the Orcs could not reach them from their lair. 

XXX 

‘Welcome to Isengard,’ Saruman said, his voice holding some emotion for the first time. They had just cleared a ridge, and were overlooking a beautiful valley at the end of the Misty Mountains. Far below a tower was encircled by a wide wall going out from the mountain side, circling it, and returning. It was an impressive tower, but Loki thought it looked a bit lonely with such a wide ring around it. The plain within the walls was rich in greenery, and just outside a river ran from the mountains into a lake. 

The air did seem less foul, Loki thought, but the black tower, with its spiked top, was almost duplicitous. 

They were greeted by trumpets. Loki was informed that men of a country called Rohan served in Saruman’s guard. They entered the only gate, travelling through a long tunnel through the thick walls, and through metal doors onto the plains of Isengard. Saruman’s gardens were well tended. The houses of his garrison were humble compared to the looming tower, whose shadow traversed the ring like an enormous clock. 

‘I offered to take the keys of Orthanc some centuries ago,’ Saruman explained proudly. ‘The place had long been a refuge for the enemies of Rohan, but had been emptied by the King at long last. The vale was in ruins, but as you can see, things flourish now.’ 

‘And the tower will help us?’ Queen Frigga inquired. 

‘Indeed, I have rebuilt the upper floors. It is a perfect place.’ 

‘Orthanc has long housed an artefact of great power,’ Gandalf explained, with a look of rebuke from Saruman. ‘It has made Isengard ideal for what we wish to accomplish.’ 

‘What sort of artefact?’ Loki asked. 

Saruman tried to dismiss the question by pointing out the architecture. It was King Thranduil who answered. 

‘A palantiri,’ he said, catching the foreigners’ attention. ‘I do not know their history well, but they are commonly known as the seeing stones, used to communicate over great distances. They were made in the Uttermost West by the greatest smith of the Noldor. I believe seven once resided in Gondor and the old kingdom of Arnor. Many have been lost over time.’

‘Yes, and without the others, this one is quite useless,’ Saruman said, and firmly changed the subject. They were each given their own room in the tower. Loki’s was small and sparsely furnished. It was dark, the walls being black like the outside of the tower. The view was beautiful of course. A four poster bed, with horse motif carvings, gave Loki ideas, but they were to dine with Saruman. His hall filled nearly an entire floor, with balconies at either end. The food included meat, which made Thor ravenous. 

‘Radagast will be here in a few days time,’ Saruman told them. ‘His raven delivered word that he is on the Greenway south.’ 

‘Another of your Order?’ Frigga asked. 

‘Yes, but he has little power compared to myself. Still, every little might help.’ 

‘I should like to see the top of the tower tonight.’ 

‘Of course, I shall show it to you myself after dinner.’ She thanked him. The rest of the evening was spent discussing the history of Rohan and Isengard. It did not interest Loki greatly, but the short mention of the Númenoreans peaked his curiosity. Unfortunately, Saruman was dismissive of them, calling their greatness long past, and Gandalf clearly did not wish to speak of something the head of his Order set aside. Thranduil seemed even more reluctant for some reason, frustrating Loki, who could not ask him why directly without seeming too familiar with the King. 

That night, Loki became one with the shadows, using all his skill to move from his rooms to Thranduil’s. He was so stealthy, he entered the room without Thranduil realising it. The King was seated at the small desk placed by the window. He had been writing something, but at that moment he was staring out over the plains. His eyes were unfocused, however. 

‘What is the King of Mirkwood preoccupied with?’ 

Thranduil started at the voice, staring for half a second wide-eyed, before he realised who it was. He sighed, shoulders slumping 

‘That was very badly done of you,’ he murmured. Loki went to him, sliding his hands over the elf’s shoulders, massaging them gently. They were both in long, light as air robes, Loki in green, and Thranduil in pale lavender. His hair was loose and newly washed. The smell of the road was gone from them both. 

Loki gently pushed the hair aside, marvelling as always over its softness. He kissed Thranduil’s neck just below the hairline, sending shivers down his spine. The elf sighed, letting his head drop backwards so Loki could kiss him on the mouth, upside down. Thranduil turned in his chair, snaking an arm around Loki and pulling him into his lap. They kissed again, Thranduil’s hand now sneaking open some of Loki’s buttons and up his bare chest. 

Loki moaned, pushing into Thranduil’s fingers. 

‘This might be our last night,’ Thranduil said. 

‘No, there is still time.’ 

‘Radagast could arrive any day.’ 

‘And Thor could decide to throw me from the tower.’ 

‘Either way.’ 

‘The bed, now.’ 

Thranduil got up so quickly, he grabbed Loki bridal style, turned and threw him onto the bed. Loki was too aroused to care about being offended. He got up on his knees as Thranduil approached the bed, using his magic to unbutton the King’s robe in a matter of seconds. Thranduil quirked an eyebrow, the only indication he was impressed, and tugged at Loki’s robe. Loki followed the silent order, and could then pull a naked Thranduil on top of him. They slid together, kissing and biting. Both of them were silently agreed to let their passions go further than ever before. Their movements were rougher, gripping and tugging with pure need. Neither got the upper hand, and Loki was growing frustrated. He growled, pushing Thranduil back. He stopped short, hovering over his partner. Thranduil reached up and traced the contour of Loki’s face. 

‘You really are beautiful like this,’ he murmured. Loki realised he was blue again. He closed his eyes, trying not to be upset. ‘Your eyes, red like fire.’ 

Loki opened them again. 

‘You are stronger, too, I think, physically. That is why you always want to bed me when you are like this.’ 

Loki had not noticed they took turns in quite that fashion. It unnerved him more than the colour itself. Was his Jotun nature ungovernable? 

‘Do not be afraid,’ Thranduil soothed, leaning up and kissing Loki’s cheek and mouth. ‘Let it out in me, and be in control in the light of day.’ It was an offer Loki could not refused, and it was spoken like a plea. 

Thranduil let him take him roughly. He seemed to revel in it, never losing his kingly command of the situation. The sight of it made Loki angry, and he turned Thranduil around to take him from behind. This produced a sound he had not heard before. Thranduil pushed up on his elbows, his hair wet from the sweat on his back. Loki bit into his shoulder as he thrust. It was glorious, wild and exquisitely precise at the same time. Thranduil cried out in blinding pleasure. Loki almost fainted. 

He fell asleep in the King’s rooms. 

XXX 

He had snuck back in the early morning hours, but he could not tell if his mother had noticed his absence. She was an early riser, but surely she hadn’t arrived early enough to find an empty room? Her demeanour at breakfast was inscrutable, and made Loki nervous. 

A raven came saying Radagast would arrive the next morning. Saruman said they would make the attempt as soon as he was here. The day was therefore spent walking in the gardens. 

Thor was with the warriors, probably scaring the Rohirrim with stories. Gandalf was in constant conversation with Saruman. Thranduil was called away halfway through their walk, something about a raven from Rivendell needing his attention. Loki found himself alone with his mother. 

‘Something is going on between you and King Thranduil,’ she said suddenly, remarking on it as though commenting on the beautiful flora. 

‘You mean besides a short-lived acquaintance?’ She gave him a look reminiscent of when she would scold him fondly for performing some magic beyond his skill as a child. He had always had trouble lying to her. 

‘Just please be careful,’ she said, reaching out and briefly touching his hand. ‘I hate to see you hurt, and it is not a hurt you are accustomed to.’ That stung more than he let on. He simply smiled and nodded. Admittedly, he was not the most “travelled” compared to Thor, but who was? He was not the kind to give his heart out to the nearest harlot who dangled her handkerchief in tearful farewell before a battle. 

‘We are going home tomorrow,’ he reminded her. ‘It would be impressive to have one’s heart broken in such short a time.’ He thought, rather optimistically, that she believed his attachment to Thranduil was newer than it was. 

He turned, intending to ask which of the paths they should take next, when he felt more than saw Frigga stop short, her face going blank. 

Loki felt it too. A stirring of malevolent magic. It came from the tower. They heard fighting, the clash of steel from the guardhouse nearest the base. Both of them set off at a run, finding the Rivendell warriors in a skirmish with the Rohirrim guards. The men were clad in leather armour, apart from the high, shining helmets, and they fought with spear and sword. Compared to the elves, however, they were no match. 

‘What is the meaning of this?’ Frigga demanded. A few paused to glance at her. The door to the guardhouse burst open, and King Thranduil appeared, face full of fury. At the exact same moment, another group of Rohirrim guards arrived behind them. 

‘Loki and Frigga of Asgard, you are ordered to come with us,’ the Captain commanded. 

‘Saruman means to capture you for his master,’ Thranduil said. ‘He serves Sauron! Thor discovered it.’ 

‘Where is he?’ Frigga demanded, ignoring the mustering of the guards, creating a proper defensive circle around them. 

‘Up there,’ Thranduil said, pointing. ‘The wizard tried to take his hammer.’ 

‘Oh, dear,’ Loki said, gazing upwards. ‘That will not end well.’ 

As if in answer, they heard a great explosion from the top of the tower. A body was thrown into the air, falling towards them. Loki knew it was Thor, despite his green cape. 

Thor came to his senses halfway down, and reached out his hammer. The magic took hold, turning his fall into flight. He banked left, circling the tower in a wide arc. 

‘He’s flying!’ one of the guards cried in shock. They were all paralyzed, witnessing the impossible. Even Thranduil was speechless. 

The doors to Orthanc burst open, and Gandalf appeared. He raised his staff high, and Loki knew he was about to unleash a burst of magic. He, Frigga and the elves all understood and ducked for cover. His stone glowed powerfully bright, and then the Rohirrim were blasted backwards off their feet. By the time they recovered, some of them staying on the ground in fear, Gandalf was down the stairs, his face full of rage, and his magic whirling around him like a terrible storm. 

‘Stay down or face my wrath,’ he told the guards brusquely, walking straight past them. ‘Come, we must leave Isengard at once.’ 

They followed, the Rohirrim wisely staying behind. Halfway between the tower and the wall, they heard a crack of lightning. They turned, witnessing Thor, hovering in the air above the tower, summoning a cloud above them all. 

A bolt shot into his hammer, and he directed it to the platform at Orthanc’s summit. From their vantage point they could not see how Saruman met the onslaught directly, but when the bolt hit, they could see a burst of light, then a return bolt of lightning. 

It was a spectacular sight, Loki could not help but think. 

At the wall, they were met with the rest of the garrison. Loki could see they had formed a defensive line in front of the stables and gate, but many were distracted by the light display above them. Loki decided further confusion would play to their advantage, and now that Thor had shown his full strength, there was no reason to hold back his own. He walked briskly ahead of their party, squeezing Frigga’s hand as he passed. She returned the gesture briefly, and he transformed. 

By the time the guards noticed the group, Loki was leading it in the guise of Saruman. 

About twenty feet before them, not stopping, he shouted, ‘Open the gates, you imbeciles, and get the horses out. These people are leaving this instant. I want no part of this!’ The guards, eyes like saucers, hurried to obey in a daze. ‘Get out!’ he told his guests. ‘I never want to see you in Isengard again. Get two extra horses as well!’ he told an idle guard, who scurried away like a frightened rat to obey. ‘And you, get your supply bags. I won’t have them to starve in my woods.’ Several more lightning strikes were heard. 

As they all mounted, guards attaching supply bags with shaking hands, Thranduil gave him a smile. Loki mounted, taking Thor’s horse in hand. He glanced behind them. Thor was playing for time by flying a particularly wide circle. The clouds overhead were black and reached far beyond Isengard’s walls. 

‘Open the gates. Get back to your regular posts,’ he told the guards, who were now more confused than ever. Loki urged his horse into a gallop as the gates were opened. 

‘Thor!’ Frigga called once they passed through the tunnel. They kept their speed, and Loki let his disguise fall. Her voice travelled by magic to Thor’s ears, who stopped midair to gaze in their direction. His distraction almost caused him to be hit by a bolt, but Mjølnir caught it, and Loki wondered, as he often did, how much the hammer could do on its own. 

Thor abandoned his fight, and flew towards them. By now they were halfway to the valley ridge, beginning the climb. Thor landed just in front, scaring the horses into stopping and rearing back. 

He was exhausted, and his cape was burnt several places. He hurried to his horse, pulling himself up with a groan. They set off again. 

They rode to the north end of the ridge. Gandalf warned that should they attempt to go east around Isengard they would be met by Saruman’s allies in Rohan. If they went west, they would no doubt encounter Dunlendings, people who once terrorized Rohan, and who likely served Sauron. To the south, the White Mountains blocked their path. North was the only way. It was better to sneak past the Orcs again than to deal with unknown forces. 

‘Saruman will have spies everywhere,’ Gandalf warned. 

‘Should we not meet up with Radagast on the Greenway?’ Thranduil asked. 

‘I fear Dunlendings will fall upon us at any moment.’ 

‘Thor is weakened,’ Frigga said. ‘If these men of Dunland are many, the Rohirrim might attack from the rear before they are dealt with.’ 

‘The wizard is stronger than he looks,’ Thor argued. 

‘And he is supported by Sauron,’ Gandalf said bitterly. 

‘We should cross the Misty Mountains,’ Thranduil suggested. ‘Take the pass at Caradhras and seek refuge in Lorien. From there, my people can meet us on the road north. Saruman will assume we mean to run north to Imladris. We must be unpredictable.’ 

‘That is a dangerous road,’ Gandalf said, but he sounded uncertain. ‘But we can not let you fall into Sauron’s hands,’ he said to the three foreigners. He looked to Thor’s hammer. ‘I have never seen such magic, but in the service of Sauron, it could destroy us all.’ 

‘None but I can wield it,’ Thor said. 

‘Never has such magic been seen in Middle-Earth. It is not impossible that you will encounter magic your people have no defence against. Anything can be corrupted.’ Gandalf threw one last fierce glance at the top of Orthanc in the distance. ‘We ride for Caradhras.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra notes (Moria): The events of this story take place between the battle we see in The Hobbit (where Thrór is beheaded by Azog) and the arrival Balin's colony- the one the Fellowship finds dead in LotR. 
> 
> Extra notes (Ost-in-Edhil): This was the capital city of Eregion, a realm of Noldor and Sindarin elves. It was in this city that Celebrimbor and a disguised Sauron forged the Rings of Power. It was founded by Galadriel and Celeborn. After Sauron forged the One Ring in Mordor, he returned to destroy the city and Eregion. 
> 
> Feel free to ask questions, or give corrections. As usual, Second/Third Age events are not my area of "expertise".


	8. Chapter 8

They rode hard, but the terrain made things difficult. Most of their supplies had been left behind. Fortunately, they had not been required to relinquish their arms inside Isengard, so all had their weapons and most of their armour. They had managed to take a few weeks rations and sleeping mats from the garrison. The only issue that might prove troublesome was their lack of thick clothes. Hopefully, the summer would be a long one. Although, many trees were already turning red and yellow, and the prospect of a night without tent or fire was not appealing. 

‘I think it may be wise if you and your warriors make your way directly to Imladris,’ Gandalf told the Rivendell Captain riding beside him. Since he had been charged with their safety, he did protest somewhat, but in the end he was convinced it was a good idea to leave two trails for the enemy to follow. Besides, word of Saruman’s betrayal needed to reach Lord Elrond quickly. 

‘You are even more powerful than I imagined,’ Thranduil said to Loki, who longed to speak to him openly, with the same familiarity they shared when alone. ‘Your illusion was effortless.’ 

‘Thank you, it is a skill I am well-known for.’ 

‘You can not fly, I hope, like your brother?’ 

‘No, it is his hammer that grants him that power, and Mjølnir is special.’ Something in Thranduil’s eyes told Loki he wished to say something else - some wicked quip that would lead to teasing. Loki looked away lest he blush. He caught his mother’s eye, and her face was full of censure, so he looked away again. 

They made their way north without incident, though several times Gandalf led them into hiding under trees and bushes. He said the ravens were Saruman’s spies. He cautioned Thor against flying high to look for their pursuers, if there were any, for they would see him first. 

Once again, they found themselves underneath Caradhras’ imposing presence. None could be sure, but Loki feared it was covered in more snow than when last they passed her by. Her sheer walls were still bare, but surely the pass itself would be covered? Gandalf said he suspected as much, but assured them the pass could still be used. 

They decided to travel closer to the foot of the mountain, so the warriors could stay with them for as long as possible. It put them dangerously close to the Gates of Moria, but there had been absolutely no signs of Orcs about. They had lost many in their looting attempt, and were probably still licking their wounds. 

‘Mirthandir,’ one of the rearguards rode quickly to the front of the party. The woods were thick at the moment, so all stopped to make room for him to pass. ‘We are being followed, at high speed. Rohirrim guards.’ 

‘We will be quicker,’ Gandalf said, though his confidence was not overwhelming. ‘They are in unfamiliar terrain. Prince Thor, since hiding is no longer an option, would you mind…?’ He glanced heavenwards, and Thor leapt from his mount. Loki noted how all stared at him in fascination as he extended Mjølnir, braced himself, and shot like an arrow into the air. 

He circled once above them, then returned, breaking several branches on the way down. He did not appear to notice. 

‘The Rohirrim are riding hard from the south, but there is an encampment to the west, and they are preparing to move. They were a wild bunch.’ 

‘Dunlendings this far north, a bad omen indeed. Did they see you?’ 

‘I do not believe so.’ 

‘I can not in good conscience leave you now, Mithrandir,’ the Rivendell Captain said. ‘To do so would dishonour Lord Elrond. We will come with you until you are no longer pursued.’ Gandalf only nodded, for they had no time to argue. Loki knew the wizard did not want a fight - the Rohirrim were simple guardsmen. It was unlikely they had any knowledge of Saruman’s true allegiance, or why they were tracking a wizard, an elven king and three strangers. 

‘Once we are out of these woods, we will be easily spotted on the mountain side,’ Thranduil said. ‘The Dunlendings could decide to investigate.’

‘We must risk it.’ 

‘Why not go below?’ 

Gandalf stopped his horse, the creature protesting the sudden movement. He turned a suspicious gaze on the King. 

‘It was your suggestion to make for Caradhras, and now you wish to put us on an even more dangerous path?’ 

‘I have no quarrel with blindly serving Rohirrim. But if we attempt to climb the mountains with our current supplies, they will catch us. Going underground will be the last thing they expect.’ 

‘And we must be unpredictable, is that it?’ 

‘No one has entered the mines for nearly a thousand years,’ Thranduil pointed out. ‘The Orcs’ numbers were greatly reduced by King Thrór’s army, and the city is vast. We might sneak by.’

‘Gentlemen,’ Frigga interjected, her voice ringing clear in the woods. She rode forwards past Loki and Thor to speak with them. ‘I would rather slay a hundred more Orcs than kill innocent men. Besides, the Mountain looks angry and I fear the weather will turn.’ Loki agreed. The summit was windblown, and the clouds were rolling in. ‘Let us hide in the mines, while the Captain and his warriors make directly for Imladris.’ 

Her wisdom could not be refuted, but the Captain insisted on sending two of his warriors with them. 

They parted ways, and Gandalf led the way along the Sirannon to the Gates of Moria. 

As they cleared the last hurdle, Loki looked up to see a sheer cliff-face. Gandalf said they had arrived, but Loki could see no entrance. The place was dark, and growing more so as the sun set. The ground was littered with the bones of animals, and the occasional Orc, or man. 

The previous elvish scouts had been correct. Because of a dam, a foul body of water had grown. Loki eyed the blackness, feeling nauseous. Their horses would not go near the water, and it was decided the mines were no place for them. The warriors guarded them and kept watch while the rest investigated the entrance. 

They had to wait for the moon, for Dwarfish magic was fickle. Loki could not sit still, and he and Thor each walked along opposite sides of the lake, listening, but the guards did not send up an alarm. Perhaps luck was on their side, and the Rohirrim had gone after the other Rivendell warriors. 

When night fell, the water seemed even more still. Loki stood by its shores, willing whatever foulness to remain beneath its surface. Thor seemed oblivious to the water’s threat, but he gripped Mjølnir in an impatient manner. 

‘Here we are,’ Gandalf said with a sigh of relief. All turned to him and marvelled at the beautiful shimmering image painted on the cliff. ‘Speak friend and enter.’ A password, but after a thousand years it was lost to time. It occurred to Loki the Orcs had to have a different entrance, perhaps some hole higher up in the mountain out of which they might slither. 

After several spells failed, Frigga attempted to break it open with her magic, but failed as well. Thor offered to hit it with Mjølnir, but all said no to that at once. Loki feared the water stirring, and Thranduil said they might awaken Durin’s Bane, if the creature still lived. 

‘Speak friend and enter,’ Frigga said. ‘Those are the exact words?’ 

‘Yes,’ Gandalf said, pointing with his staff at each word as he spoke. ‘Speak friend and enter. It is Sindarin. Pedo mellon a minno.’ 

‘Mellon...’ At Frigga’s word, the rock began to rumble. It split apart, the door becoming wide enough for five men to walk abreast. Inside the little light from the moon could not reach far, but Loki could glimpse a stairway ascending. A whoosh of air flew by, but once settled, a coldness seemed to creep out like a miasma of decay that had laid upon the floor for a millennium. 

They heard footsteps from behind. The guards had returned. Movement was reported in the forest below, but if it was Rohirrim or Dunlending, or Orc, they knew not. All the supplies were quickly redistributed so all carried a fair load. When it came to finally entering the mines, however, the so-far valiant Rivendell warriors froze upon the threshold. 

‘The Noldor have no love of caves,’ Thranduil said with a sneer, already by the stairs. ‘We should have sent them all to Imladris.’ Loki had to admit, even he would have preferred retracing their way north. After much debate, the two warriors left, disgraced. Only five in their party now, which meant less sleep, a heavier pack, and no one for Thor to impress. In a different world, Loki might have scoffed at the need for guards, but entering the Black Chasm made him wish for an army at his side. 

Gandalf lit his staff, making the stone glow bright. They all started the steps, only to spin at the sound of the doors closing. Loki held his breath until they slammed shut. There would be no retracing now. What sort of dark abyss had he fallen into? Even the fall from the Bifrost had not seemed so dark and terrible. One word sprang to his mind: doom. 

Loki hoped Thor would not get his wish to meet a Balrog. 

‘We must be vigilant, and above all quiet,’ Gandalf warned, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘So we may pass undiscovered to the other side.’ He led the way. 

XXX

The Dwarves dug either deep and crooked, or straight and embellished, and never did the methods appear together. The entrance steps and the halls of welcome beyond were large and probably homely when hit by roaring fires. Now they were tombs for the bones of animals and Orcs. If Dwarves had once died here, their remains had long since turned to dust. 

Beyond the entrance and halls, Gandalf led them up winding stairs and past bottomless chasms. The hunt for mithril had been relentless, and the hollowing of the mountain had left little space for paths. The city must have housed thousands upon thousands of Dwarves in its heyday. Although the Elvenking’s Halls were infinitely more pleasant and wondrous, even in its entombed darkness Khazad-dûm was awe-inspiring. Thranduil often sneered, but his eyes would glitter occasionally whenever he gazed down and glimpsed the remains of treasure-veins in the rock. 

It was cold. Halfway through the first day Loki insisted on giving his cloak to his mother. She knew he had always taken the cold better, but for some reason this time she gave him such an odd look, Loki felt himself blush. He had no plans to turn blue in front of her - the very thought was blasphemy. Thor looked guilty he had not thought of the gesture first, but said nothing. 

When they camped for the night where the road was widest, Thranduil stepped close. Frigga was conversing with Gandalf about their journey, so hopefully she did not hear the King when he whispered. 

‘If you turn blue, would you not be free of the cold completely?’ 

‘It is not that cold. You are fine, are you not?’ Loki busied himself with rolling out his mat, pointedly ignoring Thranduil’s gaze. 

‘The cold of the earth is a welcome feeling. It reminds me of home, though the Dwarves’ style of digging is… crude. As a frost giant-’

‘Do not say that word,’ Loki hissed, glancing at the others fearfully. ‘I have no intention of turning.’ 

‘You are foolish to ignore such an advantage. You waste energy creating that illusion, which is beginning to be obvious to even the simplest conjurer.’ 

The words stung, and Loki had to look away before he flinched. The King spoke the truth to some extent. Ever since Loki had first changed into his Jotun self without the aid of external magic, he could _feel_ the illusion in a way he never could before. It was as if Odin had dipped him in skin-coloured paint, and it was finally beginning to peel off. He had to use his own magic now to sustain it. He had not realised Thranduil would be able to tell. If the King could, did his mother know? The thought sickened him. He was a pretender, a Jotun in Asgardian clothes. 

‘Is everything all right?’ Frigga asked as she settled next to Loki gracefully. 

‘Fine.’ 

Thranduil left without saying a word, intending to take the first watch. 

‘Did the King upset you?’ 

‘No, it is this place. It presses down on me.’ 

‘He has not changed his mind, now that we are stuck in Middle-Earth longer?’ 

‘What?’ Loki looked up at his mother, and saw her true meaning. ‘No, of course- He is not- No, is the answer. No on all accounts.’ She nodded, gave him a dubious look. ‘Has Gandalf said anything of our plans once on the other side?’ 

‘He has ideas, but none concrete,’ Frigga said, allowing the change in subject. ‘He is more concerned with keeping us safe from the hands of Saruman and his master.’ 

‘Probably wise.’ 

The night, which was no different than day under the mountain, gave little sleep. 

XXX 

They travelled higher and higher into the heart of the mountain. The days and nights bled together, and Loki had trouble counting the hours. Thranduil seemed perfectly at ease, though on alert. He always knew when it was time for sleep. In his own halls, it would often go months between his visits to the outside world. 

Loki wished himself back to those caves, so light and flowing compared to the rigid Dwarfish structures. They came to another wide staircase, which led through a massive opening, maybe as high as forty feet. The hall within was so high-vaulted Loki could not see the ceiling in the dim light. 

‘Welcome to the Halls of Khazad-dûm,’ Gandalf said with reverence, extending the light of his staff. Loki’s mouth fell open. For the first time since his arrival, he gazed upon a structure comparable in size and majesty to the halls in Asgard. Infinite pillars, each one gigantic, in every direction, with space enough for ten people to walk comfortably between every one. The carvings were cruder, certainly, but the height, width and breadth were overwhelmingly impressive - and in fact could not be gauged accurately without more light. 

‘Amazing,’ Frigga said. 

‘Dark and cold,’ Thranduil muttered. ‘One would need so many torches to light it, it would fill the air with smoke before people could see it.’ 

This was probably true, and Loki almost said he preferred the caves in Mirkwood, but then decided against it. 

‘I am sure the Dwarves of old made vents at the top,’ Gandalf said amicably. They started walking. Loki hoped they would see the other end soon. The endless pillars created the illusion of a maze-like structure. Loki searched the shadows as they walked. There might be Orcs lurking behind any one of them. 

The shadows moved as Gandalf passed by with his staff. Loki did not understand why he was so uneasy. His eyes examined every corridor created by each row of pillars, watching intently the way the light passed by. He noted the way the shadows moved, seeking for any sign that something alive was hiding. He became so distracted by this task he fell slightly behind the rest of the party. None of them noticed, so caught up in the greatness before them. 

Had that shadow moved unnaturally? Loki stopped short, heart pounding. He was certain beyond a doubt something had moved. As Gandalf moved further ahead, the spot Loki fixated on grew darker. Something moved - Loki sucked in a breath and walked towards it, passing the first pillar. 

He held his breath and tried to listen, but all he could hear were the footsteps of the others, echoing despite their attempts to be quiet. He drew his sword, Aeglos the Icicle, silently, moving round the next pillar. Nothing. The light from Gandalf’s staff barely reached him now. He turned to go back, berating himself for his foolishness. 

A small gust of wind made him spin back around. It tickled his neck, sending shivers down his spine. There, in the space just outside of the last rays of light from Gandalf’s staff, was a shadow of a man. 

A shadow of The Man, from the Goblin caves. An ice-cold fist gripped his heart, just as the last time he had seen it. He did not let himself be paralyzed by fear this time, however, and ran at the shadow. It vanished just as Loki reached it. He spun this way and that, daring it to reveal itself again. 

_‘I see you, Loki.’_

The whisper made him spin, sword outstretched, striking at the unseen opponent right behind him. But there was no enemy, and no shadow this time, so his sword struck the nearest pillar with all his strength behind it. 

The clang of metal on stone echoed obscenely through the hall, returning to him again and again as if to mock him further. 

‘Loki,’ Thranduil’s voice pulled his from his trance-like state. The King rushed towards him, sword drawn, eyes searching the hall around them for whatever enemy Loki had tried to strike. When none was found, Thranduil put away his sword and approached Loki. ‘What happened?’ His eyes shone with worry, but before Loki could conjure up some response to that look, the rest of them appeared. 

Thranduil must have noticed Loki’s absence before he struck, to arrive before the others. 

Hastily sheathing his sword, Loki tried to pull himself up, hoping he didn’t look as undignified as he felt, or as foolish. 

‘Forgive me, I saw a shadow...’ 

‘What kind of shadow?’ Gandalf asked, raising his staff to shine the light further into the hall’s recesses. Before Loki could answer, a low echo of a drumbeat reached them. Four times, then a long pause, then repeated, faster and faster, until it abruptly stopped. ‘We must hurry.’ 

They ran. Every time Loki glanced over his shoulder, he dreaded to see a horde of Orcs, but none appeared. Thranduil had armed himself with his bow. Beyond the great hall they followed stairs leading downwards. The corridors were finely carved compared to the mines they had traversed, with halls upon halls in different shapes and sizes. Several levels down the stairs led through natural caves in the mountain. On either side of the stairs, they stared down a drop that would easily kill a man. Loki had no desire to test if it would kill him. 

Here they stopped a while to listen. All was silent, at first, but then the stomping of feet could be heard. It was impossible to guess if they were dozens or thousands. The rumbling seem to come from all around them, bouncing off the walls of the cave. Were they in front or behind? 

A louder rumble, as though the mountain itself gave a great belch, shook the entire chamber. It was a noise not made by Orcs. Another rumble followed, and the patter of Orc feet sounded hesitant for a moment. 

Gandalf and Thranduil turned pale, and exchanged a fearful glance. ‘Quickly. We must reach the Great Gates.’ 

They started down the stairs, but the archway down below was spilling forth a swarm of Orcs. The annoying creatures scurried up the stairs like rats from a sinking ship. Some of them stopped to shoot their crude arrows, and Loki had to duck to avoid one. He pulled his sword. It would not be easy to fight on the narrow stairs. 

The great rumbling - footsteps - could still be heard. 

Thor suddenly jumped forward with a battle-cry and charged down to the Orc horde. He swung his hammer wide, to and fro, casting several Orcs into the chasm with each swing. He was cutting them down like wheat. Eventually, one of them managed to stab at him with a spear. It hit his breastplate, and bounced off. Thor grabbed it and threw it, Orc attached. This movement allowed more Orcs to get closer, and Loki jumped into the fight. They cut down the horde, growing in confidence as they found their old rhythm. Their enemy did not seem to matter- Loki and Thor fought like brothers, and with no room for anyone else, they slowly pushed their way down to the archway. By then the rest of the Orcs had fled, for good or simply to regroup. 

‘Well done, brother,’ Thor said, slightly flushed from the battle. ‘Like old times.’ Loki did not respond to that, and the group hurried on. 

They entered a massive chamber. In front was a large platform, leading to an abyss. The Bridge of Khazad-dûm, Gandalf said, and Loki saw the sliver of rock crossing it. Beyond lay the Great Gates, and escape. 

To their right was a large archway, leading to some unknown place. There was something behind it, and with the strength of a hundred men it smashed at the cavern walls. Rocks fell and Loki felt the vibrations in his feet. A clawed hand reached through the archway, and pulled away a chunk of rock, extending the opening upwards. 

The hand was black, yet seem to glow as though it was burning coal. 

‘Go, go!’ Gandalf said, their party having frozen at the sight. 

The Balrog hit the wall again, and it collapsed, sendings huge rocks outwards. They had to duck and inch towards the edge of the chasm. They ran for the bridge, but Thor, being last, stopped before it, turning as the Balrog stepped into the chamber, rising to its full height. Loki was halfway across, and had to turn to see as well. 

It was made of darkness and fire, with wings spanning the length of the chamber. The body was a mixture of man and beast in shape, only massive. The face was bull-like, its eyes pure glowing fire. Loki had never seen the like. Although he knew Thor’s strength better than anyone, he feared for him. 

‘Impressive,’ Thor said, Mjølnir in hand. 

Gandalf was right behind him, gazing up at the creature with trepidation. ‘Go,’ Thor yelled at him. ‘I will hold it off.’ 

‘Give me your pack.’ Thor did so, tossing it to him. ‘Cast it into the chasm,’ Gandalf advised. Thor glanced down and nodded. The Balrog opened its mouth and roared, the heat from its breath made Thor lift his arm and shield his face, but he was undeterred. Gandalf ran, forcing Loki to make his way the rest of the way across the bridge to Frigga and Thranduil. 

They watched as Thor spun his hammer. The Balrog appeared to be sizing him up. Loki had no idea how intelligent the creature was, but it was definitely aware that Thor was not something it had come across before. 

Thor threw Mjølnir. It hit the Balrog in the face, knocking it hard backwards, but not sending it off balance or damaging it visibly. It snorted and shook his head, then roared in annoyance. Thor caught Mjølnir as it returned to him. 

He leapt into the air, circling the chamber before shooting straight at the creature, crashing into its right cheek. This time its head was knocked hard into the wall, but it still manage to swat at Thor so he had to fly away to avoid it. The Balrog pushed itself upright, roaring and igniting itself. For a moment its whole body was engulfed in a dark flame. Thor shielded his eyes, and did not see the Balrog swat at him, this time with its wing. 

Frigga gasped as Thor was whacked into the ground like a fly. The Balrog lifted its wing and stomped its foot at the same time. Thor only just managed to roll away. He flew round and round the Balrog, dodging its attempts to reach him. Loki could see Thor’s face was bloody, but he had no idea how badly hurt he was. Frigga clutched Loki’s arm. 

All of a sudden, Thranduil stepped forward with his bow and shot an arrow across the chasm. It hit a lone Orc on a high ledge behind the combatants. Loki sent him a grateful glance. 

Thor fought the beast hard, hitting it whenever he got past its defensive. It was slow, but its wings were huge and not easily dodged. Thor’s quick flight annoyed it, and its grunts and roars became desperate as it spun more and more to get its hands on him. 

For every hit Thor got in, the Balrog stumbled a bit more, but Loki feared Thor could spend hours hitting it without victory. Thor was no idiot in combat, however, and Loki realised he was luring the creature closer to the chasm. The Balrog was getting very agitated. Loki saw what it planned to do just as Thor flew in for another hit. 

‘Watch out!’ But it was too late. Just as Mjølnir connected, the Balrog ignited itself again. Thor backed off quickly, but he was losing air and his cloak was smoking. The Balrog caught him as he fell and lifted him to its face, breathing its toxic heat at him. They could hear Thor’s scream of rage and pain. Loki had to do something, but against such a foe, what magic or blade would help? 

He was just about to attempt something when Thor raised Mjølnir. A cloud overhead formed at once, and the Balrog looked up in surprise. Lightning surged into Mjølnir, and Thor smote the fingers holding him. He was free at once, the Balrog screeching, cradling its hand in pain. 

The chamber was largest over the bridge, and Thor flew high out of the beast’s reach, perhaps needing the respite. Loki could not see the extent of his injuries. 

The Balrog took one step onto the thin bridge, and by some miracle it did not collapse immediately. It spread its wings wide, and with horror Loki realised it was about to take off. Loki and the others backed away, climbing the stairs halfway to the Gates. The Balrog beat its wings, the wind enough to blow rocks at them. It began to rise - there had to be some magic involved, for Loki knew what it was doing was physically impossible. 

Its feet were several feet in the air now, and Loki wondered what they could do. If they ran, they might unleash this creature on the world beyond if it decided to leave Moria to pursue them. 

Just then Thor shot like a bolt downwards. Loki expected him to land another hit on the beast’s head, but he seemed to fly straight by. Confused, Loki could not understand why the Balrog cried out in annoyance. Thor shot again, upwards this time, then again down. 

He was tearing its wings apart, Loki realised. With the Balrog’s flight faltering, Thor flew to one of the holes he had created. He stuck his hammer through, and flew down, both pulling the creature downwards, and ripping the wing in two. 

The Balrog hit the bridge with all its weight, breaking it. It beat its wings, but they would not function. It fell into the chasm. Thor flew up, Mjølnir high, victorious, when the Balrog reached for him with its last trick: its tail. 

It wrapped around Thor’s leg and pulled. Thor resisted, but even he could not carry the weight of such a creature. The tail went taut, and he began to descend with it. 

Thranduil shot another arrow, so precise it hit the tail, ripping it just enough for Thor to do the rest himself. It snapped like a whip, and Thor flew free. They heard the Balrog roar, shaking the chamber as it tumbled down, crashing against the walls.

When Thor landed, Frigga embraced him. His face was bloody, his nose broken, his right hand was badly burnt, and his hair singed, along with his cloak. But he was smiling. 

‘Well done,’ Gandalf said. ‘Well done, indeed.’ 

‘Thank you, King Thranduil,’ Thor said when Frigga let go, extending his hand. Thranduil shook it firmly. ‘An impressive shot!’ 

‘Thank you, Prince Thor. I have never seen such a fight.’ Thor nodded his thanks. 

‘The only other to best a Balrog is the elf Glorfindel,’ Gandalf said. ‘He is considered one of the noblest of all the Eldar. Your victory will be remembered in song.’ 

‘You honour me.’ 

‘Might we wait with the composing until after we breathe fresh air?’ Loki asked, half joking, but at the reminder that they were so close to the exit, all hastened to obey the suggestion. 

They passed through the Great Gates, and into Dimrill Dale. The landscape was barren and rocky, unnaturally so. A forest could be seen bordering further down, in a wide circle, as though scared to grow closer. The sun was out, and all paused to let it shine on them. Loki’s heart felt light and he breathed deeply. Frigga cleaned Thor’s face with some water from a nearby stream, and Loki heard the crack as she righted his nose. He wondered how many times she had done that over the years. 

He was staring out over the landscape, noting the forest looked healthy, when he saw three black shapes in the air. Birds he thought, but a spike of fear shot through him. They were too large to be birds he realised, and far too close for comfort. 

‘Men on horses,’ Thor said suddenly, pointing. Out of the forest below rode six riders, all in black. They galloped directly for them. 

‘Not men,’ Thranduil said, and not even the Balrog had put such fear in him as these did. What new demons would Middle-Earth conjure up now? ‘Those are Nazgul, in the guise of riders.’ 

‘Winged and horsed,’ Gandalf said, face pale. Thranduil’s gaze snapped up to the winged creatures, which Loki now saw were also ridden. 

‘Beasts of Mordor,’ Thranduil said. He drew another arrow, aiming very carefully, but he did not let it go. 

‘Aim for the creatures,’ Gandalf said. Thranduil waited for them to be within range, while the rest of them prepared to meet the riders. ‘Do not let yourself be cut by their blades or breathe in their breaths, for both are poisoned.’ 

Thranduil’s arrow flew, but the winged beast ducked. Thor stepped forward, ignoring Frigga’s plea that he was already weakened. He raised Mjølnir, but not as confidently as before, and jumped into the air. They all shed their packs and made a line of defence. 

Loki drew Aeglos and stood firm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra notes: The description and handling of Moria is more inspired by the films than the book, it being so long sine I read them. On the subject of Balrogs, I have always preferred them winged and able to fly - to some extent. Tolkien took his time to decide what kind of creatures they were, and in the end he decided there would only have been seven of them at the most. With so few, I like to make them as formidable as possible.


	9. Chapter 9

Loki gripped Aeglos tight. Six black-clad riders were galloping up the hill at them. The noise on the rocks was thunderous. Frigga was to his right. Thranduil, who had switched to his sword, and Gandalf were to his left. He spared a half-glance up at the sky. Storm clouds were forming, darkening all of Dimrill Dale. The three riders in the air were astride huge dragon-like beasts. They made a wide circle around Thor, who hovered, waiting for them to strike. 

The six riders stopped about thirty feet before them. The horses reared, neighing in a shrieking manner. Loki tried to slow the surge of adrenaline, knowing it would need to last. The animals had been warped in mind and body. Their eyes were red, and blood dripped from wounds on their faces and legs. 

One of the riders urged his horse slightly before the others. Now that they were close, Loki saw that they were not physical men at all. Their hooded cloaks and sharp gauntlets hid bodies that were not in this world. Their faces were not simply in shadow - they were not there at all. Wraiths, Loki knew them as. He had seen creatures of similar make in the borders between realms and dimensions, during travels he had not spoken of to anyone. 

The Nazgûls’ dark magic radiated out, almost choking him with its foulness. A lesser being would be paralyzed by fear, and Loki knew that was their best weapon. The air turned cold at their arrival. Loki could see the air on his breath, and even he could feel coldness stabbing through his skin. It was a fear designed to bend men to their will. 

‘Lay down your arms,’ the main rider hissed. The voice was not carried on the air, and all who heard it felt it in their minds, like a slithering eel through their ears. ‘We require the one called Loki, and the hammer.’ At the sound of his name, Loki felt that now familiar iron grip on his heart. He was about to yell back when Thranduil did it for him. 

‘If you want them, you will have to kill the rest of us.’ 

The riders drew their swords, and charged. The defensive line could not stand firm, and Loki was flanked on both sides. He ducked their swords as they rode past easily enough, and glanced at Thranduil by his side, who had done the same. 

‘Forgive this violation,’ he cried, and shifted his form into that of Thranduil. The King blinked at him, but before he could respond, the riders had turned and were about to charge again. Loki ran to the side, and left two doubles behind him, five feet between them, making their defensive line a little more challenging. The riders hesitated, the illusion no doubt unfamiliar. 

Frigga used their distraction to summon up her own powers, creating fog from the water in the stream, obscuring everything around them. Loki almost yelled at her to stop - she did not know that they had no need of vision. He could not give away his true self, however. 

The air was thick with fog, and now Loki saw his mother’s true intention. Some of the fog swirled so thick it coalesced into the dark shape of a seventh rider. It charged at Loki, the horse’s hooves pounding just as loudly as a real one. He ducked, spun, and ducked again, though the rider had made no real attempt to slice him. It disappeared into the fog towards the others. Loki heard the sound of horses and steel clashing, and hisses of anger and confusion. 

Every once in a while, the fog would flicker as thunderbolts lit up the sky, and Loki’s eardrums threatened to burst from the sound. 

The fog was so thick, Loki could barely glimpse his own doubles. A sword sang out to his left, and he heard Thranduil grunt. 

As quickly as Frigga had conjured the fog, it dissipated. It had been imbued with magic, for it had confused even the sightless riders. One was off his mount, duelling fiercely with King Thranduil. Gandalf was between two of them, both still on their horses, facing him head on. He raised his staff high, the light blinding. They charged, but Loki had to look away to avoid burning his eyes. 

Where was his mother? The illusion had most likely taken a lot out of her, being created without any study of its subject. She would be relying on them to finish the fight, but luckily the Nazgûl had no idea how much it might have drained her. 

Before Loki could find her, he had to instruct his doubles to duck as a rider charged them. It swung a massive spiked mace. The second double was not quick enough, and the mace nicked its shoulder, vanishing it in a puff of smoke. Loki raised Aeglos, knowing the sword might give him away, and sidestepped just before the rider was upon him, slashing the horse’s opposite flank. It reared up with a cry of pain, and Loki struck it again on its hind legs, sending it crashing to the ground. 

The Nazgûls’ darkness was not only a weapon, but a weakness, Loki realised as he felt the cold creep upon him from behind. He spun, parrying the oncoming blow from a standing Nazgûl just in time, their swords grinding together. The Nazgûl was an empty hood, but Loki could have sworn it sneered at him. 

The rider whose horse he had taken down was on its feet, so Loki sent his last double to meet it. He continued duelling while controlling his double, but fighting against sword and mace at the same time was almost impossible. After a few blows, the double crumbled. 

As the rider’s mace flew through the double and hit bare rock, the crash it made caught the attention of Loki’s opponent. By chance, Loki was just about to strike, and he shifted Aeglos’ trajectory, feeling the sword come alive in his hands, and struck at the head instead of the body. The rider’s momentary lapse was gone in less than half a second, and Loki could feel it grin at the knowledge that Loki must be the true prize they sought. By that time, however, Aeglos was already connecting with its head. 

Loki knew a sword would most likely not hurt a wraith creature, but it had been instinct to go for the kill. As Aeglos cut through the hood of the rider, however, it connected to something solid. Loki almost let the sword slip from his hands in shock. The wraith screeched in pain, falling to its knees. Loki pulled the sword hard from its head, and spun to the side. The other rider’s mace came down where he had stood, and instead crushed the wounded Nazgûl, crumpling it completely, leaving only a torn cloak. 

Before the mace had even hit the ground, Loki was slashing downwards, cutting the Nazgûl’s head off. Although it did not roll away like a mortal man’s head, Loki could still feel his sword cutting through a neck. The black cloak fell away as though blown by the wind, and the mace rusted and crumbled in mere seconds. 

Pure curiosity made Loki raise Aeglos to his ear. He listened to the sword, and now he understood what a great gift this truly was, and why Lord Elrond had been so offended. The swords of the Elves were not mere tools. Their magic was forged within it. This was why the sword could strike at enemies in the wraith world. 

He doubted, however, that the Elves had the power to destroy these creatures. They might still be alive, though their connection to the mortal realm was severed. If so they would have to crawl back to their master to seek new forms. 

A cry made him take in his surroundings. It was Frigga. She was duelling a wraith far away on the other side of the stream. She must have been driven there by its relentless hacking at her. Loki ran, but he would be too late. 

She was not an expert swordswoman, but she was holding her own, even weakened. The Nazgûl hit too hard, and her duck made it overstep, allowing her to strike at it freely. She aimed for its neck, just as Loki had done a moment ago. 

‘No,’ Loki thought, but he had not the time to scream it. Her sword was of Asgard make, and no smith in the Nine Realms could make a sword that could strike a wraith. 

Her sword only hit the Nazgûl’s hood, flattening it momentarily and making it seem for a fraction of a second that it had lost its head. But when Frigga’s sword passed beyond, it reshaped itself. 

Now it was Frigga who had overstepped. She was too close - the Nazgûl stabbed her deep in the gut. Loki’s legs were still carrying him towards her, but his mind was frozen as her mouth opened in a scream. 

The Nazgûl leaned close and breathed its poisonous breath into her open mouth, paling her face. It pulled its sword from her body, and she fell to her knees, her hands covering the wound. She looked up in resignation as it raised its sword to bring down the deathblow. 

Loki was upon them now, and he cut the creature from behind, his slash so swift and sharp he sliced the whole cloak in two. Aeglos vibrated in his hands, as though excited from the bloodshed. The pieces of fabric were thrown to the wind, and the creature’s sword tumbled into dust. 

At the same moment, an answering cry of pain came from above. Even as Loki fell to his knees, taking his mother in his arms, he heard a loud thud. He knew the sound, and both he and Frigga looked towards it. Mjølnir had fallen to the ground. It lay alone, as though it was a harmless tool dropped by accident. 

One of the Nazgûls battling Gandalf was closest, and it leaped towards it, grabbing the handle. Of course it would not be lifted, and the Nazgûl hissed in annoyance. It cried out in a dark language. 

The two remaining Nazgûls on the ground whistled, and their horses seemed to come out of nowhere. Thranduil shot arrows after them, but they grabbed their saddles as the horses ran past, and were halfway down the hill in seconds. 

Loki looked down at his mother. Her eyes were glassy, and there was blood in her mouth. She would not meet his eyes. 

‘Thor,’ she whispered. Loki looked up and saw the three beasts flying away, one of them with Thor in its talons. He was unconscious, or else he would have been screaming and cursing. 

Feeling as though the world was ending, Loki looked down at his mother again. The riders were gone, but it was they who had been defeated. 

‘Mother,’ he tried, the words sticking in his throat. He looked down at her hands. They were covered in blood. Her skin had a strange, pale bluish sheen to it - wraith poison. ‘I do not know how to heal a wound like this,’ he said. 

‘The Eldar do.’ Thranduil knelt at his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. His eyes were wide and earnest, stopping Loki’s panic from bubbling over. ‘We must get her to Lothlórien. I will stop the bleeding as best I can. You and Gandalf go into the forest and make a stretcher so we may carry her quickly. Go. Now.’ 

Loki gently lowered his mother to the ground. Her eyes met his, and she managed to nod. He returned it, and hurried down the hill with Gandalf. He used his sword to hack down branches. Gandalf had thought ahead and brought one of their sleeping mats. Loki managed to control his magic enough to make rope from the bark, twisting it together. 

By the time they returned with a rudimentary stretcher, Thranduil had finished whatever magic he had wrought. Frigga was still pale, but her midriff was wrapped with parts of Thranduil’s cloak. 

It wasn’t until after they had gently lifted her onto the stretcher that Loki remembered Mjølnir. The hammer was exactly where it had fallen. 

‘What do we do?’ he asked Frigga. 

‘We have to leave it,’ she said, voice weak. 

‘I swear I will bring him back,’ Loki heard himself say. ‘Thor will lift Mjølnir again.’ 

She smiled, tears falling, and closed her eyes. Loki didn’t know how to interpret that. They shouldered their packs, leaving behind what they could not carry. Thranduil took the front of the stretcher, while Loki lifted the end, so he could look down on her as they walked. Gandalf led the way. 

They hurried down Dimrill Dale, through the forest and wild fields beyond, finding paths to follow, made by animals Loki thought. He walked ceaselessly, eyes on his feet or his mother, his mind blank. 

Gandalf made them stop by a river. After Frigga was lowered gently to the ground, Loki sat beside her. She was asleep. 

‘Here, drink.’ He looked up to find Thranduil. In his hands was a cup of water. ‘It is water from the Nimrodel, it will help you.’ 

‘Her first.’ 

Thranduil obeyed and woke Frigga to help her drink. She thanked him, and Loki liked to believe there was some improvement. Thranduil fetched more and Loki drank, feeling the water revive him. Its healing power flowed through him, waking his mind. 

‘Thank you.’ 

Thranduil knelt beside him. Frigga had fallen asleep again.‘She will be saved,’ Thranduil promised. Loki nodded. He glanced at his empty cup, wondering at the incredible power of the water. ‘The river is named for a beautiful Silvan Elf.’ 

‘The healing is powerful. She must have been very special.’

‘She was lonely, I think,’ Thranduil said. ‘She did not like other Eldar coming into Lórien.’

‘Your people are very divided.’ Thranduil did not answer, and instead fetched more water. When this was divided between them, he finally spoke. 

‘When my kind first awoke at our place of creation, we were after a time found by Oromë, a powerful being, one we consider a god. He led many of our people westward towards the land of the gods. But some of us left the group along the way, for we had no desire to see the light of that land, preferring the light of the stars.’ 

Loki listened to Thranduil’s soothing voice, the meaning of his words barely reaching him. The story comforted him nonetheless. He decided he would ask Thranduil to tell it to his mother when she awoke. He spoke, not realising his question had already been answered. 

‘You and your people are one of these - unwilling?’ 

‘Yes. I have a great fondness for the night. The stars, the cold. It is fresh and pure.’ 

‘And the Elves of Lórien?’ 

‘Some of Lady Galadriel’s people live there, but many are of those left behind, though that does not mean we are the same. The sundering of the Eldar took place over many stages, and created several unique groups.’ 

‘But they will help us?’ 

‘Yes, they will. The House of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn would never refuse help to those who ask for it.’ 

Loki thought Frigga was becoming paler again. He wanted to start walking, but Gandalf said they needed a few more minutes rest, so they could reach Lothlórien without collapsing. 

‘What were those creatures?’ Loki asked. ‘Their nature was wraith-like, not of this realm.’ 

‘The Nine,’ Thranduil said, his eyes darkening. ‘They were once men, seduced by Sauron.’ 

‘How can men become that?’ The idea implied immense power and an evil that knew no bounds. To take mortal men and make them beings of pure terror - what could do that? The Shadow came to Loki’s mind, and he shivered physically as he heard the whisper of his name again in his mind. 

‘Loki, here, drink a little more before we go.’ Thranduil brought the cup to his lips and Loki drank it all greedily. 

‘Thank you.’ 

They set off again, and the healing gift of the Nimrodel kept the Shadow at bay. When they crossed her further down, Loki knew they were being watched. It was not a sinister presence, but cautious and alert. He decided to keep his head down to appear the least threatening. They entered a different forest on a small path. The undergrowth was not dense, nor the trees very thick, and yet Loki could not see their watchers. With every step further into the forest, the shadows in Loki’s mind retreated, and all his thoughts were now on Frigga. 

Gandalf stopped as they reached the top of a small hill. There were less trees here, and so they could see the surrounding area. The light from the sun bounced off the tree tops, making them golden. Here they lowered Frigga to the ground, and waited. 

The Elves were almost at the top of the hill before Loki spotted them. They were ten in number, all in grey cloaks, and all but one was armed with bows at the ready. As they approached, the leader held up in hands and the bows were lowered. He had long golden hair, dark eyes and seemed less afraid than the others. He walked ahead, bowing before Gandalf and Thranduil. He said something in an Elvish tongue Loki had not yet heard. 

Thranduil answered in the same language, his voice soft and gracious, before turning to indicate Loki and Frigga. The elf stepped forward, and Loki rose to his full height, showing no one would go near her before words he could understand were spoken. 

‘Allow me to introduce Prince Loki of Asgard and his mother, Queen Frigga,’ Gandalf said quickly. ‘This is Haldir, of the Galadhrim. He has agreed to help us.’ 

Loki bowed his head to Haldir stiffly, and the elf returned it with a kind smile. He slowly knelt by Frigga, who managed to open her eyes. Haldir gently put his hand on her stomach. 

‘You have been poisoned by a Ringwraith,’ he said. ‘King Thranduil’s power and that of the Nimrodel has dammed its flow, but I can not promise we will be able to heal you completely. The Lady Galadriel is not at home, and all of Lórien is diminished without her light.’ 

‘I understand,’ Frigga answered. 

‘My guards will carry you to Caras Galadhon. You will be safe there.’ Haldir rose and called to the others. Loki stepped aside and let them carry her. The path through the forest was single-file, so Loki had to walk behind, catching glimpses of her at every turn. He did not notice the trees growing taller and thicker, or the the light from the sun diminishing due to the shade from the canopy. He did not even realise they had entered the city until he heard a noise that made him look up. 

The trees had grown enormous, and in the space where the trees divided into branches there were built large platform dwellings. They were beautiful, mimicking the flow of branch and leaf in every detail. There were constructions on the ground as well, Loki saw, and they were built into the trunks and under roots thicker than normal trees themselves. The sun cast sharp rays through the holes in the canopy, illuminating the city as though by torches. 

The Elves of Lórien were beautiful, though not quite as tall as Thranduil’s people. They were of several different colourings, though most were golden-haired like Haldir. They wore white and grey clothes. A calmness lay over the entire city, a dream-like carelessness Loki did not find comforting. Of the Elves here, only Haldir appeared solid to him, and it was only he who spoke to them in the common tongue. 

Queen Frigga was carried into one of the dwellings on the forest floor. She was lifted onto a bed, and several Elves surrounded her and spoke in hurried tones. 

‘Come outside,’ Thranduil said, taking hold of Loki’s elbow. ‘Let them work.’ Loki allowed himself to be led outside. The grass was soft, and he almost wanted to lay down where he stood and sleep for a century, but at the same time the idea that he should want that sickened him. Thranduil must have seen these conflicting emotions in his face. ‘Is there something else that troubles you?’ 

Loki looked around them, but Gandalf had gone off somewhere. He felt very vulnerable, and did not like that either. In fact, the beauty of this place was a distraction, and he decided it was deceitful. ‘Loki,’ Thranduil called to him softly, as though the King was afraid to disturb the peace in Lórien. Was he affected by this place? 

‘I wish to leave,’ Loki said. ‘I feel ill.’ 

‘Lothlórien is a place for healing,’ Thranduil said. ‘I am no great friend of the Lady Galadriel, but her home is peaceful. I know your mind is on Prince Thor, and your mother, but you must allow yourself to rest. You can not fight for them if you are exhausted.’ 

‘It is not rest I require, and I could not get it here if it was.’ Loki’s gaze flitted this way and that, suspicious of the smallest movement. Thranduil was frowning at him. 

‘You are ill. Did the Ringwraiths breathe their stench on you?’ 

‘No, I am fine. It is this place.’ Loki glanced behind him at the door, beyond which lay Frigga. What if she was dying? Loki had to be by her side. 

‘Loki,’ Thranduil spoke firmly, placing both hands on Loki’s shoulders. ‘Look at me. You are distraught, and perhaps the magic of this place does strange things to you. Try and ignore it.’ Loki nodded, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Thranduil was right, he was letting the magic affect him. 

Haldir suddenly emerged from the healing house. 

‘Prince Loki,’ he said. ‘Your mother will recover.’ Loki sucked in a breath, closing his eyes in relief. ‘But,’ Haldir warned. ‘It may take a long time. The poison was almost at her heart. Our healers are drawing it out of her, but I fear she will not be completely healed until the Lady Galadriel returns.’ 

‘Do you know when she will arrive?’ 

‘No, I am afraid not. We received word that she and Lord Celeborn had left Imladris, but if the White Wizard truly has betrayed us, they may need to turn around.’ 

‘But she will live, until then?’ 

‘We will keep the poison from her heart,’ Haldir promised. Loki let out a breath, thanking Haldir profusely. ‘Would you like to see her? She is still awake.’ 

Loki followed Haldir into the healing house, and found his mother propped up in bed, soft pillows and blankets cocooning her. She was wearing one of their white robes. She lifted her hand when she saw Loki, and he rushed to take it. 

‘Loki,’ she said. ‘It was not your fault.’ 

‘Everything so far has been.’ 

‘They were too many, and Thor was weak already.’ 

‘From fighting a monster I awoke.’ It was he who was the monster, he wanted to say. Perhaps that was why the magic of Lórien distrusted him so. 

Frigga shook her head. ‘No, it was awoken by Saruman and his master, just as the Nazgûl were sent by him.’ 

‘Sent to take me.’ 

‘They are evil, and want your power. That is not your fault.’ 

‘I am here, and you followed me. That is my fault.’ 

‘No.’ Frigga was growing tired. The Elves watching her did not understand their conversation, but they were worried for their patient. Loki barely knew they were in the room. 

‘Yes, it is my fault,’ Loki confessed. He could not stop himself. ‘I let go.’ 

Frigga’s brow furrowed as she tried to puzzle out his meaning. 

‘I let go.’ Loki stared into her eyes, willing her to understand. ‘I-’ Confessing was pointless. She blamed him, even if she would not say it. He turned and fled from her side, running past Haldir by the door and Thranduil just outside. He did not know where he was going, and blindly followed the little pebbled path that wound round the trees and little streams and ponds. 

It was not until he was completely alone that he stopped and looked around. There were no dwellings near him, but the trees were still great towers, so he was still within the city. A strange wind blew from behind him and he turned, wondering how any wind could blow when the trees created such a dome of leaves. 

A spectre appeared, in the shape of Lady Galadriel. Loki could not guess whether she was the real Lady, sent through some magic, or if it was a figment of his mind and the magic in the air. She was pointing, he realised, and followed the direction of her hand. Down stone steps was a round courtyard of ancient stones, and in the middle was a low pillar with a silver basin set in it. 

Loki knew at once what type of water the basin contained. He could feel the magic as he descended into the circle. He was suspicious immediately. 

The Norns used a similar technique when making their predictions and judgements. Loki had no desire to look into the future or past. He wished Thranduil was here to tell him why the Lady of Lórien would lead him here. 

Despite all this, he was drawn to the basin. It sang to him, mournfully, as though in sympathy. Perhaps it would tell him how to make amends for all the wrongs he had accomplished. Or, perhaps it would show him how it had come to pass that he had become the very thing he had been taught so long to hate. Would the water freeze if he touched it? He was beginning to think it was his Jotun nature the forest objected to. 

He stood before the watery mirror and gazed into it, falling into its magic, letting it show him whatever it wanted to. 

At first, all was fire. Forests and cities burned, places he had not yet seen, and some he had. There was Thranduil, being overcome by Orcs, slain without fanfare, left for dead in a mountain of bodies. There were too many dead for the evil creatures to eat before they rotted. Loki grimaced at the sight, but held on. 

Sauron appeared, a beacon of light in the shape of a lidless eye. At first Loki thought it was surveying the destruction with an approving stare, but suddenly he realised the eye was gazing at him. It _saw_ him. He was connected even here, in these peaceful realms. 

‘I see you, Loki,’ it said. ‘In my service your powers would be unconquerable.’ 

‘I will never serve anyone.’ 

A vision appeared between them of Thor being bound to a rack, tortured and brutalized. He did not scream, but Loki did. 

‘He is of no use to you!’ 

‘His corrupted soul will be.’ 

‘I can not give you the hammer. None but Thor can wield it. But I will give you me.’ The Eye seemed to consider - as if this was not exactly what it had planned. 

‘Come to me, and I will let him go.’ Fire swirled the image away, and Loki almost cried out for him to stay so he might see Thor one more time. Another image was forming, however, one of beautiful hills and small farms. Houses were dug into the earth, with little round doors. The creatures that lived there were short, fat little people, without a care in the world. 

There was a ring of fire around it, but the image itself was peaceful. A sunny day - in Hobbiton, he read on a signpost. 

Frowning, Loki almost withdrew, thinking the magic had truly gone mad, when he appeared in the middle of the image. He was grinning, holding something aloft in victory. It was almost too small to see, but then he placed it on his finger - a ring. 

The fire turned to ice. Loki grew in size to terrifying proportions, becoming a true Jotun, only even more monstrous. The real Loki gasped at the sight. The Jotun wielded Aeglos like a dagger, and his powers were overwhelming, covering all of Middle-Earth in endless ice. 

The fiery ring around the image blazed back in anger, and the Eye of Sauron sprang forth, almost leaping out of the basin. 

Loki pushed himself away, stumbling backwards. He panted for breath, certain he was smoking, but it had not been true fire. 

A warning, he realised. Sauron had seen the same image, and been afraid. 

Afraid of what Loki could become if he had this ring. How it had come to be in a small farming village in the land of small people, he would probably never know, but Sauron knew it was there. Its power was nothing Loki had come across before. He had no idea of its scope, but Sauron feared it falling into his hands. That was enough. 

Should he go there and try to take it? With such immense powers, he could free Thor with the wave of a hand. He could rid Middle-Earth of Sauron. Maybe he could even heal Frigga and take them all home. 

He laughed at himself. Go home as a monster even more disgusting than the one he already was? No, that he would not do. 

‘Loki? What did you see?’ Thranduil was hurrying down the steps, face alarmed. ‘How did you even find this place?’ 

‘Lady Galadriel led me here.’ The magic of Lórien settled as Loki found his purpose. He was finally calm. Thranduil sensed the change, and he approached cautiously. 

‘What did you see?’ 

‘The road ahead.’


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: VERY minor sort-of spoiler for The Hobbit BOOK. I have no idea if this will be mentioned in the last movie. It's really very minor, but if you don't want anything spoiled - read the book or wait for the movie before reading this :)

As Loki and Gandalf hurried down to the forest, Thranduil knelt by Queen Frigga’s side, pulling his cloak from his shoulders and ripping it. ‘I will say a spell over you, and it will slow the bleeding, but it will also make it difficult for you to stay awake. I must warn you, there may be other strange effects, considering I have never healed an Asgardian.’ 

Frigga’s hands were limp as he removed them from her wound. He had to remove her breastplate - much good had it done her - and rip her clothes a little to get at the wound. With no healing oils or even a pinch of Asphodel, it would be difficult. He placed both hands on the wound and said the ancient words his own mother had taught him. His light flowed into her without obstruction. Thranduil was glad. He had been afraid her body would reject it, and that her screams of pain would make Loki push him away. 

Luckily, Loki was still in the forest, so Thranduil could work unhindered. 

Frigga gasped as her body stopped dying, for the moment. Thranduil bound her midriff as tightly as he dared. He ripped another piece of cloth from his cloak, dipped it in the nearby stream, and tried to wash her hands. The sight of all the blood would be upsetting. 

‘Thank you,’ she whispered as he cleaned her skin. 

‘No thanks are needed. You will still die if we do not reach Lothlórien soon.’ 

‘I’m sorry I distrusted you so,’ she said, surprising Thranduil. ‘I was being a mother.’ 

‘Understandable,’ Thranduil said, slightly uncomfortable with the knowing glint in her eyes. Did she know? Loki had seemed perplexed during their first coupling, and a part of Thranduil still wondered if it was not the custom in Asgard to find pleasure in both genders. He shifted his mind quickly to more pressing matters, however, and glanced down at the forest to make certain Loki was still within. 

‘I must ask, Queen Frigga,’ he said, leaning down slightly so he would not need to speak loudly. ‘Why did you raise one not your own, if your people consider him a monster?’ 

Frigga’s eyes widened, and for a moment it seemed like her face would contort in rage, but instead she let out a breath, and a few tears trailed down her cheeks. 

‘I hated my husband for bringing him home,’ she confessed in a whisper. ‘For years and years, I would not go near him. But, he was such a loving creature, and curious. It was as though he was determined to love me, and make me love him, and I did.’ 

‘But why not tell him? Why not explain?’ 

‘Odin decreed it.’ 

If Thranduil ever had the fortune to meet this King, he would ask him a few choice questions. 

‘He blames himself, for everything,’ Thranduil said, knowing it was not his place to tell Loki’s secret. He wanted to, badly, but he could not tell a mother she had played a part in her son’s downfall. 

‘He shouldn’t,’ Frigga said, more tears falling. 

‘Then tell him that,’ Thranduil begged her. ‘Or I fear not only for his mind, but the fate of us all.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘He thinks himself a monster beyond redemption. If not checked, it will become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Sauron has tempted the most noble of creatures, and Loki, for all his strength, is not very noble.’ 

Frigga opened her mouth to question him further. Thranduil could see she knew he was hiding something, but by then Loki and Gandalf were approaching with the stretcher. 

XXX 

‘The road ahead,’ Loki said, head held high. He was decided, Thranduil could see as much, and did not like it. The Mirror of Galadriel had done more harm than good over the years, in Thranduil’s opinion. He had looked into its depths once, and seen his father’s death. Seeing it twice had done nothing to help him. 

Whatever it had shown Loki, it would most likely lead him to his doom. 

‘And where does the road go?’ Thranduil asked, approaching cautiously. Loki had proven himself since his hard landing in the east. Through his strength of adaptation and forceful emotions, he had won Thranduil’s admiration. Once that was won, Thranduil considered himself half-lost already. 

‘I will go to Mordor, and exchange my life for Thor’s.’ 

Thranduil almost backed away in shock, but forced himself to remain calm. 

‘That idea is pure madness,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You can not allow Sauron to use you.’ 

‘Do not argue,’ Loki said. He walked out of the courtyard, up the stairs and back towards the healing house. Thranduil followed. He reached for Loki’s elbow, but Loki spun, ripping himself free. He glared, but his anger was at himself. ‘Thor must live. Odin did not send him here to die for me.’ 

‘No, he sent him here to find you and bring you home.’ 

‘You have no conception of the will of the Allfather,’ Loki spat. 

‘And what of your mother? Do you think-’ 

‘She would gladly exchange my life for Thor’s. I am not her true son.’ 

‘No, you are not, but-’ 

‘Stop arguing. You have no say in my decision.’ Loki turned his back on him and walked away, but Thranduil followed. 

‘Never,’ he said as they passed by curious Elves. Not in a thousand years could Thranduil have predicted he would one day speak to someone walking away from him thusly. Who would dare ignore the King of Mirkwood? The onlookers were probably gossiping. ‘I will never stop arguing against this insanity. You are not worthless, Loki. If you would but open your eyes-’ 

‘What has happened?’ Gandalf was waiting outside the healing house, Haldir by his side. They saw the storm clouds in Loki’s eyes. 

‘Sauron came to me in a vision,’ Loki said. ‘He has Thor. I am going to Mordor to rescue him.’ He shot a glance at Thranduil. 

‘And I am going with him.’ Now Loki turned to face him, glaring. Before he could argue, Thranduil cut him off. ‘You need a guide to the Gates of Mordor. Once there, I will leave you to your fate. You have my word.’ 

‘This is madness,’ Gandalf said. ‘You can not allow Sauron-’ 

‘He knows where his ring is,’ Loki said. Gandalf’s eyes widened in shock. ‘I saw it in the vision as well. It is in a place called Hobbiton.’ 

‘Hobbiton,’ Gandalf stuttered. He put a hand to his forehead, and for a moment Thranduil thought he swayed. Thranduil felt similarly. He thought of the Elf-friend, Bilbo, and a coldness passed over him. Was the odd little creature involved? Thranduil sensed Fate’s heavy hand. 

‘Sauron will no doubt send the Nine to fetch it,’ he said, glancing at Loki. ‘If the vision was true.’ 

‘I must reach The Shire before them,’ Gandalf said, fidgeting as though he would run from Lórien at that moment. 

‘My men can lead you north,’ Haldir offered. ‘If the weapon of the enemy is found, all of Middle-Earth must prepare for battle.’ 

‘Then Thor must be freed,’ Loki said. ‘If it is a war Sauron wants, you will want him on your side.’ 

‘And you? Whose side will you be on?’ Thranduil asked pointedly. 

‘My own, as always,’ Loki said, raising an eyebrow at him. ‘Sauron will not corrupt me. In fact, I may be in the perfect position to betray him at the right moment. Consider, my family and I will get no help from Sauron to get home. It is in our best interest to help your side. Thor can help you destroy this weapon. It is a worthwhile exchange.’ 

‘I can not linger here arguing with you,’ Gandalf said, annoyed. ‘The Ring must be found and destroyed. Sauron’s life-force is bound to it.’ 

‘Then go, and I will go with Loki to the Gates. If you pass by my guards at our southern borders, please send a message to my son to prepare to march the army south, in the event Sauron decides to strike first again.’ Gandalf nodded, speaking quickly to Haldir in the Elven tongue, and departed with a curt nod. 

Thranduil and Loki’s eyes met, neither admitting the other was right. It felt very strange, to be involved in events so different from how he thought his life would go. He thought he was done with wars and intrigue, let alone emotions such as these. Now he was involving his army, and possibly his son. He had sworn he would lock his people in the caves before he sent them south to die before the Gates of Mordor again. 

‘Excuse me, I need to speak with my mother,’ Loki said. 

‘I will prepare for our departure in the morning.’ Loki did not contradict him, walking into the healing house without a word, so Thranduil felt safe in ordering supplies. The Elves of Lórien were accomodating, he would give them that. 

XXX 

Loki sat by Frigga, trying not to fume, but finding it very difficult. Damn Thranduil to Niflheim. Could he not mind his own business? 

Another part of Loki felt heat bubble up inside him with the knowledge that he would not have to travel alone to this dark land of Mordor. As for the plan of betraying Sauron - he had great confidence in himself as a trickster, but had no way of knowing how easily Sauron could be tricked. In all likelihood, he was going to his death, but at least he would have company, for a time. 

Frigga stirred sometime later, reaching out to Loki when she realised he was at her side. 

‘My son,’ she said, smiling. ‘We must talk.’ 

‘I must tell you something first,’ Loki said, leaning close. ‘I will be leaving in the morning. Thor needs my help.’ 

‘Don’t go. I can’t lose you both,’ Frigga begged, and Loki felt a shiver run through him. Did he believe her? He looked at her, finding himself filled with wonder at the desperation in her eyes. ‘Please, we must consider a plan. This isn’t like you.’ 

‘We don’t have time.’ 

‘Loki, you are my son,’ Frigga said, eyes wide, but her breath was short. She should not be this agitated, but Loki was paralyzed and could do nothing to calm her down. ‘I know you don’t believe it when I say how much I love you.’ 

‘Don’t-’ Loki closed his eyes and bowed his head. 

‘You are not of my blood, but you are in my heart.’ Such beautiful language, perfect for manipulation - but to what end? Loki had no idea. ‘Loki, tell me truly, did you fall from the Bifrost intentionally?’ 

‘Yes,’ Loki whispered. 

‘Why?’ He could hear she was crying. 

‘I was half-mad,’ Loki heard himself babbling. ‘I tried to destroy all of Jotunheim, using the Bifrost - they probably failed to tell you. It’s my fault Thor had to destroy it. He crushed it with Mjølnir.’ 

‘Why?’ 

‘I thought- I thought it would help,’ he laughed. ‘Asgard would be safe from the Jotun threat forever. I thought it would… redeem me. Wash myself clean of their kind…’ He saw the face of Laufey as he died. His true father, whose blood flowed inside him as much as it stained his hands. ‘My kind,’ he whispered. 

‘Loki, you are not defined by the actions of your fathers,’ Frigga said soothingly, squeezing his hand. He looked up, tears falling from his own eyes. 

‘Which is why I must go,’ he said. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘I must do what I believe is right, regardless of blood or family.’ He stood, gazing down at her. She gripped his hand, as though she planned to keep him there by physical strength. ‘I will free Thor, trick this so-called Sauron the Deceiver, and go home with you, to face whatever judgement the Allfather has for me. This I swear.’ 

‘Then all my love go with you.’ She kissed his hand, lingering. He leaned down and kissed away a tear on her cheek, leaving her without another word, lest he change his mind. 

Haldir was outside, his face grave but sympathetic. He led Loki to a place where he could rest, and Loki fell asleep the moment his head felt the pillow. He could not count the number of hours he had been awake, and now his body took them all back. 

When he awoke, he realised he was in a house built on one of the platforms high in the trees. He must have changed clothes, for his robes were white. He slipped out of bed, walking to the open balcony. Outside all of Lothlórien sparkled with morning dew. Elves were going about their business, seemingly without a care in the world. Did they not know their enemy was amassing his army and regaining his weapon? Loki took little pleasure in the beautiful city, which even in the daytime appeared ever in twilight.

Thranduil slipped in without knock or sound, but Loki knew he was there. He felt the King approach, coming to stand next to him. 

‘You have not changed your mind?’ Thranduil asked without hope. 

‘No, have you changed yours?’ 

‘No.’ 

‘Then our fates are sealed.’ 

‘And bound together.’ 

Loki turned to face Thranduil. How had their entanglement come to pass? He had been on this strange world for months, and yet it seemed like only yesterday he had stood dumbfounded in the King’s presence for the first time. Thranduil stepped closer, eyes on Loki’s face and lips. 

‘I will not part from you before you go where I can not follow.’ 

‘And once I am beyond your reach?’ 

‘I will help your family, in whatever way I can.’

The words Loki had planned to say died on his lips as Thranduil leaned in and stole them. Their kiss was chaste yet undeniable. Their affairs were involved, whether Loki accepted it or not, but he had no desire to refute the fact. A companion on the road, and a promise of protection for Frigga, was more than he could have hoped for. It seemed they were both stubborn enough to follow through. 

He kissed back forcefully, slipping his fingers into Thranduil’s hair. They had to break apart at a knock on the door. It was Haldir; he had their supplies ready. Their clothes had been washed in the night, their armour readied, and they had new green cloaks woven with seamless magic. A gift of the Galadhrim. They would make them invisible to enemies, though Loki was skeptical the cloaks could do much to augment his own magic. 

Loki said goodbye to Frigga. Their words were short, having said what they needed yesterday. Gandalf had disappeared already. They were taken by boat down the river Anduin. After half a day’s travel, the Galadhrim gave them one of the boats for their own, and left them. 

XXX

‘We will follow the river a little longer. The enemy will assume we mean to follow it until at least the Falls of Rauros, but I suggest we come down from the north on foot. It will be a very difficult path, but the supplies from Lórien will be enough.’ 

‘I deferre to your judgement,’ Loki said as their paddled. ‘But I must reach the Gates as soon as possible.’ 

‘I know you fear for Prince Thor, but we must also give Gandalf as much time as we can. Once Sauron has you, he might decide to strike. We need to divide his attentions.’ 

‘Just show me the way,’ Loki said. ‘Thor is strong. He will not be broken easily.’ 

‘I do not doubt that,’ Thranduil said. He looked up at the eastern river bank. The foliage was already beginning to thin. They would reach the Brown Lands soon. ‘It has been an age since I was in this part of Middle-Earth. I wish to avoid unfamiliar paths.’ Loki agreed that was wise, and so the road ahead was laid out. 

When the eastern banks of the Anduin became deserted of all growing things, Thranduil had them disembark. Since they were travelling with stealth, he had removed his diadem and bound his hair back with braids lest they be captured. It made him feel young again, but the sight of the Brown Lands reminded him of times best forgotten. 

As they walked the desolated plains, only a few dry bushes here and there, Loki glanced at him several times. Thranduil wished to avoid speaking of the past, but he also understood it would perhaps be an advantage for Loki to know the cost of letting Sauron unleash his horde. 

‘These plains were once fertile,’ Thranduil told him. ‘Sauron destroyed all living things during the War of the Last Alliance, when we fought with men to stop Sauron’s advance.’ 

‘How long ago was it?’ 

‘Almost three thousand years.’ 

Loki gazed over the plains, probably considering how one being could destroy such a vast plain for so many years. It was a great pity - Thranduil had once walked among the trees here, and spoken with them. 

‘But you were victorious?’ 

‘After many years, and at great cost.’ 

Loki did not ask, thankfully, and so they walked the plains until nightfall. Loki ate the wayfair bread of the Elves and it revived him as much as Thranduil. They would have no problems reaching the Gates. They need only be careful with their water. 

They did not light a fire, but the stars were out, so Thranduil could see perfectly fine. He wondered how well Loki saw in the dark, and whether he would see even better in his Jotun form. He did not ask. 

‘You lost someone in the this Last Alliance War, didn’t you?’ Loki asked just as Thranduil was about to sleep the first few hours of the night. 

‘Do not burden yourself with my losses. You have enough to think about.’ He lay down and closed his eyes, hoping Loki would let the matter drop and focus on keeping watch instead. After several minutes of silence that felt like a roaring in his ears, Thranduil sat back up. 

‘Either ask your questions or keep quiet,’ he said. 

‘I was being quiet.’ 

‘Your curiosity is deafening.’ 

‘Then tell me.’ 

‘My father, Oropher, died on the plains of Dagorlad, south of here. The last time we spoke, we were riding through these lands.’ 

‘I’m sorry.’ 

‘It matters not. He was reckless. He refused to wait for Gil-Galad to give the order to attack. Relations between our people were not much better then. Had I been King-’ No, he would not give in to fruitless speculation. ‘I think I took Gil-Galad’s sword out of misplaced anger.’ 

Loki glanced down at the sword lying beside him. Aeglos glinted in the star-light as if in response. Thranduil had never dared to wield it himself - too insulting, even for him. 

‘Your people do not die except in battle,’ Loki confirmed. 

‘We might perish from sickness, or heartache.’ 

‘Heartache?’ 

‘My mother died from grief when I returned from the war.’ She had gone into the woods directly after his coronation. It should sicken him to speak of such private things to one not of their kind, but Loki listened with a scholar’s curiosity that was soothing. ‘My own wife lay down to sleep when our second son perished. Legolas had half a mind to do the same. He was very fond of her, but I managed to dissuade him. He was but a century old at the time. Far too young for the Halls of Mandos.’ Yet he might reach them very soon, if Sauron opened his gates. 

‘Forgive me for making you speak of your grief.’ 

‘I have no grief left.’ True silence finally reigned, and Thranduil lay back down and fell asleep. 

They passed through the Brown Lands at an almost leisurely pace, eating only a couple pieces of Elven bread a day. The hills rose slowly as they travelled south. The Wall of Rohan was to the west, a steep cliff they would give a wide berth. They could not longer see the Anduin. 

As they reached the top of a rocky hill, they got their first glimpse of Emyn Muil, and Loki was stopped in his tracks. Thranduil himself had last seen the place covered by the fallen. 

Directly before them was a landscape dotted with brambles. Piercing the sky were stone chimneys of varying heights. A few streams made much of the land soggy, and ivy crept up the stones, disguising them, making them from a distance appear like a strange gathering of wood-trolls. A traveller here might easily be lost, especially if fog obscured the horizon. 

Beyond this unsettling land, the streams parted into each other, slowly dispersing into the swamps. The Dead Marshes. On every island windswept firs stood crooked and beckoning. Far to the south-east, they would soon see the outline of the Ered Lithui, the mountains that bordered Mordor. At the point nearest to them they would find the Morannon, the Black Gates of Mordor. 

Memories of the siege of Barad-dûr assaulted Thranduil, but he kept them at bay. There would be time to visit the dead soon enough. 

‘Do you know the way through this place?’ Loki asked.

‘Not directly, but together I am certain we will find it.’ 

Without another word Thranduil entered the Emyn Muil. Loki hesitated for only a moment. He must know Thranduil was delaying their arrival at the Morannon. Parting from him now however would be suicide, so Loki could do nothing but follow. 

XXX 

When they entered the Dead Marshes, Loki glanced at Thranduil to gauge his reaction, but the King’s face was blank. The place was, in a word, horrible. Loki would not have entered it for any other reason except the one he was following now. Everywhere he stepped, water, moss and swamp rushed up as though to grab him and pull him under. Thranduil led the way, very gingerly. Apart from the occasional bird, and many worms and insects, they saw no creatures. The Ered Lithui had loomed larger every day, but the swamps made them seem just as far away as when they started. 

Many times they had to turn and go back to find a different path, the swamps being like a maze. They had to stop long before sunset, for without proper light they could easily fall in. Loki hated the place, the stench especially, but more so its presence. He dared not use much magic here, for fear of drawing attention to himself. Though what was watching, he could not tell. 

They camped under a small tree, where it was driest. Thranduil had gone almost completely quiet ever since they left the Anduin. Loki guessed it was due to bad memories. He had little experience in other people’s grief. 

‘It is unlikely we will be troubled by enemies here,’ Thranduil said as he divided up the Elvish bread. Loki nibbled on it, enjoying the texture. ‘We need not stand watch.’ 

‘I doubt I will sleep much,’ Loki said, taking in their immediate surroundings. ‘The air is sometimes foul enough to choke me.’ 

‘The stench of the long dead.’ 

Loki swallowed. He had been in many battles in his life, but he had never stayed long enough to see such an aftermath. The Dead Marshes became even more unsettling. Thranduil seemed eerily undisturbed by the place, but Loki knew that to be a false calm. 

‘Do you think you have a chance,’ Thranduil asked suddenly, finishing his own piece of bread. ‘Of deceiving the Deceiver?’ 

‘I have tricked many different creatures, using many different guises, but one such as him?’ Loki shrugged. ‘I do not have much hope.’ 

‘You put on my shape quite easily.’ 

Loki felt himself almost smiling. ‘It was nice, being that tall.’ Thranduil, accepting the attempt at levity, arched an eyebrow at him in mock skepticism. 

‘I barely have an inch on you, two at most.’ 

‘You do have thicker soles on your boots. That must be it.’ 

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed. He reached out and grabbed Loki’s collar, yanking him forward and on top, their lips meeting in a kiss as they lay down together. The pleasure sparked a light in their minds, making all their troubles shy away, for a brief moment. Loki’s fingers threaded through Thranduil’s hair, while Thranduil held him tightly around the waist. They pressed as close as possible. 

Thranduil kissed along Loki’s jaw and down to his neck, returning every half dozen kisses to his lips, as though he could not be without them for too long. Loki closed his eyes and enjoyed the King’s ministrations. He was so caught up in the soft pleasure of it all, he didn’t notice Thranduil undoing his clothes until the King’s hand was down his trousers, around his member. 

Loki’s eyes flew open with a gasp, finding himself staring into Thranduil’s. Something dark lurked in their depths, and Thranduil was fighting against it. Loki gasped again, arching his back into Thranduil’s touch, silently begging for more. The King played him, giving him pleasure just shy of release until he was incoherent. It was a familiar ploy, but this time it felt different, vital to the King’s state of mind. Loki had no mind himself to think, so he just let go. 

When he was finally released from the torturous pleasure, Thranduil was out of breath himself. He sat up abruptly, but did not move away. Loki put himself to rights, and slowly sat up, hesitating to touch him again. 

‘Goodnight.’ Thranduil turned and lay down, and Loki wisely went to sleep on his own mat. 

A few hours later, Loki was awakened by a shiver. Something felt wrong, and when Thranduil was not lying next to him Loki felt his throat close up in fear. He sat up, looking around in the dark, and saw the outline of Thranduil’s body. He was kneeling by the edge of the little island they had camped on, head bowed, gazing into the swamp’s depths. 

It was then Loki realised the swamp was not completely dark. There were lights coming from the water. Unnatural orbs, hovering neither close nor far, making them seem reachable and out of reach at the same time. If Loki stared at one too long it shaped itself into a form, sometimes elf, or man, or dwarf. They were calling to him with bell-like songs, but he shook himself free of their power easily, rising. 

The long dead, he thought, and rushed to Thranduil’s side. 

The King’s eyes were fixed on an orb in the water. Loki could not see whatever shape it was taking to mesmerize Thranduil so. Luckily, the King’s hands were limp by his sides, and he did not appear to be in immediate danger of falling into the swamp. Loki knelt by his side and very gently put a hand on his shoulder. 

‘The long dead,’ Thranduil echoed. ‘My father’s body was buried under a mountain of the slain. Orc, Elf and all allies alike. We had no time to dig them out, and when we next passed through here, after the Siege of Barad-dûr had ended, seven years later, this place had already swallowed them.’ 

The vision from the Mirror came to Loki, of Thranduil buried under a sea of Orcs. He shivered, trying not to look at the orbs, focusing of the profile of Thranduil’s blank face. 

‘Do not look at the lights,’ he said quietly, urging Thranduil to come away with a small tug. ‘I fear they mean to lure you down.’ 

‘Their souls are not with Mandos,’ Thranduil said, voice hollow. ‘They are trapped here, until the Unmaking of the world.’ 

‘These orbs are not souls,’ Loki said, growing truly fearful. Were they becoming brighter? Or maybe more numerous, as though suspicious of Loki’s resistance to them. ‘They are creatures who feed off the dead, but they are not the dead themselves.’ 

Thranduil finally looked up. His eyes were glassy, and there were tear streaks on his cheeks. Loki almost looked away at the sight, but kept steady. ‘How do you know?’ 

‘I don’t,’ Loki confessed. ‘But their powers are too dark to be made by the dead alone. Souls are not corrupted simply by being in such a place, even if it is foul to the living.’ 

Thranduil gazed over the marshes again. The orbs blinked back, but then slowly started to fade. Loki let out a breath of relief. 

‘Thank you,’ Thranduil said. ‘I let my grief blind me.’ 

‘The orbs were… disturbing. Perhaps tomorrow you should-’ 

‘I was in no danger of following them,’ Thranduil said, voice sharp. ‘Perhaps you should go back to sleep.’ Loki took the warning, and did just so. He was not offended by Thranduil’s short temper, though usually he would have been. The King would not turn back, even though he had to face his grief every day in the marshes. Loki took that fact to his soul. 

After that night, Thranduil spoke a bit more, but never about the orbs or the dead. 

XXX

During their time travelling on foot through perilous terrain, Gandalf the Grey would make his way swiftly on horseback to Rivendell, following the river east of the Misty Mountains. When he reached the southern parts of Mirkwood, he encountered the King’s guards, who still held firm against Sauron’s encroaching Orcs. They swiftly sent on the Wizard’s message to Prince Legolas. The army would not be summoned easily, being spread thin due to the darkness in the forest. 

Keeping off the road most days, Gandalf did still meet the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn coming south. They had been about to take the road through the Gap of Rohan, but Lady Galadriel had changed their plans at the last moment. Their procession travelled without disturbance to their home. 

Gandalf then passed over the Misty Mountains without incident. He would stay but one night in Rivendell, before riding hard for The Shire, and his old friend, Bilbo Baggins. 

In Lothlórien, Queen Frigga recovered even without the presence of Lady Galadriel. She was far stronger than any of the Elven healers had supposed. For the Galadhrim, all thoughts were on Saruman the White, and his growing presence in the land of Rohan. Would the Lady of Lórien desire her people to hide away, or join the fight? 

Haldir felt his fate lay beyond the borders of Lothlórien, and bound inexplicably to the foreign Queen. She often asked questions about Saruman, and the people of Rohan who might fall to his influence. Haldir was one of the few Galadhrim who had travelled abroad, and learnt the common tongue, so until his Lady and Lord returned, he was the Queen’s only companion. 

It was not clear to either of them, but their fates would indeed take them into Rohan, and beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra notes (Thranduil's backstory): Everything except the fact that Oropher was killed at the Battle of Dagorlad is my own fabrication. Tolkien never mentions Thranduil's wife or mother, or if Legolas had any siblings. I decided to add a bit more flavour to his past to maybe explain why he's so stiff and stubborn. I also wanted to remind people just how old he is! 
> 
> Descriptions of the landscape are taken from the movies and encyclopedias, as I don't have time to re-read the books. I hope I managed a nice blending of the two. 
> 
> As always, feel free to offer questions, suggestions, corrections or just comments :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I've been moving house. Updates will be more regular again, hopefully. :)

The Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn returned to their home with the knowledge that Queen Frigga was waiting for them. They did not know that the Queen had recovered much despite the Lady’s absence, and that she was almost fully healed by the lights of Lothlorien alone. Her strength now turned to restlessness. She had lost two sons to fates unknown, and she was determined not to sit idly by in a city of peace. 

‘This way,’ the Lady Galadriel said. Queen Frigga followed her through the forest city as though she were pursuing a ghost. The Elf’s feet were bare, but made no imprint on the damp moss. Lights hung high like stars in the canopy, and far away Elves were singing to the tune of lutes. 

Frigga was only just out of her sickbed, but even in a foreign land her demands would be met. 

They descended stone steps into a round courtyard and she saw it at once: the device of prophecy that had made Loki leave her side. The Lady Galadriel refilled the basin from a nearby trickle of water flowing straight from the rock. She gave Frigga a look of sympathy. 

‘Be warned, if you look into the Mirror, you may see a path you do not wish to take.’ 

‘Then I will not take it,’ Frigga answered, stepping forward. ‘Seeing a vision of the future will not compel me to follow it.’ 

‘But that is exactly what you hope to accomplish.’ 

Frigga narrowed her eyes at the clever elf. She had not entered Frigga’s mind with magic, but the guess was too close for comfort. Galadriel smiled, though her eyes were sad. ‘You hope to see your path cross with Prince Loki’s. Or to see what drove him away. But the Mirror does not grant wishes.’ 

‘I will look regardless,’ Frigga said. She looked and saw the water’s surface ripple as though she had thrown a pebble in. For a moment she thought it would fail to produce a vision, but then light appeared in its depths. It grew until she could make out an object. Snow white fabric, stained with blood. In her mind she heard the clink of metal, and the bubbling of a smith’s water as he cooled a new-forged weapon. The vision changed into a great sea of grass, burning. Frigga grew impatient. She waved her hand over the mirror and the vision changed. She saw a great city, white with many circular walls rising in layers. Trumpets from the battlements. An army was marching from the gates. 

Again, Frigga waved her hand, causing a little wave to wash away the vision. This was not useful. She had no interest in foreign battles, and yet that was what the mirror showed. A great battle between horrid Orcs, Elves and men in more than one type of armour. Thor was there! He was wielding Mjølnir. She saw his face close, and almost reached out to touch the water’s surface. He had a chain around his neck she did not recognize. It was silver, with something attached- 

He turned abruptly, as though he had heard someone call his name. 

It was Loki, but it was not. His armour was black, his face half-covered by a spiked helmet. His eyes were obscured, but his mouth was grinning obscenely. He reached out, grabbing the chain around Thor’s neck, yanking it off.

The disturbing grin, combined with Thor’s look of horror, caused Frigga to step back, letting the water grow dark. 

‘Your magic is insidious,’ she said, turning away. 

‘White robes, stained with blood,’ Lady Galadriel said, her voice low, almost manly. The whole courtyard seemed to darken with her mood. 

‘That is what you remember? My sons were at each other’s throats.’ Frigga was growing tired of Elvish wisdom and riddles. She needed her sword in her hand and her enemy at her feet. The magic of Lothlórien was soothing, but she had no wish to be soothed. 

‘My Lady, Queen Frigga.’ They both looked to the top of the steps at Haldir. He was breathless, clad in his armour, and frowning. ‘The scouts from the south have returned at last. It is true, the plain of Isengard is being stripped of its trees.’ He descended the stairs as he spoke. ‘They saw smoke rising from the earth itself around Orthanc.’ 

‘He is building an army in secret, at the behest of his Master,’ Lady Galadriel said. She looked at Queen Frigga with a calculating gleam in her eyes. ‘You saw a path in the Mirror. It leads to Isengard.’ 

‘My path is to my sons, nowhere else.’ 

‘My Lady,’ Haldir stepped forward. ‘I have had a growing sense of doom within me for some time. If Queen Frigga wishes to go, I beg leave to follow her.’ He looked to her, giving a bow of the head. ‘If she will accept my service.’ 

Of all the Elves, he was the least obscured. He spoke with ease and the command of a veteran. Frigga would gladly have his help, but she would not take him from his post without his Lady’s consent. 

‘Saruman will create an army unlike any seen in Middle-Earth,’ Lady Galadriel predicted, her eyes growing luminous as she focused her power inward. ‘If allowed to work unhindered, the plains of Isengard will be bare within a few years. Underneath the ground he will grow new creatures. Combined with Sauron’s forces, they will cover the land.’ 

‘Then send out your armies and stop him,’ Frigga said. 

‘Our army is small,’ Haldir said. ‘Lothlórien can not be left undefended, and we are vulnerable on all sides.’ 

‘Then ask your allies-’ Frigga stopped herself. She would not get involved. Yet, a part of her wanted to see Saruman again. White robes, stained with red. The image was appealing. 

‘The Rohirrim are still allied to him,’ Lady Galadiel continued, though Frigga paid her only half a mind. ‘If he suspects we mean to attack, he will call for aid.’ 

‘But we can not wait for his army to grow.’ 

‘Saruman’s true allegiance has been revealed prematurely, thanks to our guests. If Prince Loki had not fallen from the sky, Saruman’s power would have remained unchecked for years until he was ready to strike. For that, I thank you, Queen Frigga.’ 

‘What should we do?’ Haldir asked. 

‘We must strike first. Somehow. We can not waste the gift of time that has fallen into our laps.’ 

‘I will go,’ Frigga said. The Elves looked surprised, though she suspected only one of them truly felt the emotion. Frigga reasoned that if they hoped to have peace long enough to return home, they would have to contribute. ‘I will go and kill Saruman the White for you. Stay here in your peaceful realm. I can strike at him more easily alone.’ 

‘Please, try to reason with him first,’ Lady Galadriel said, a meaningless token of peace in Frigga’s opinion. 

‘Take me with you, at least,’ Haldir offered. ‘I know the way.’ 

‘Thank you. I accept gladly, if you are free to offer it.’ She looked at the Lady Galadriel, and gave a bow of her head. ‘Thank you for your hospitality.’ 

‘You are very welcome to return,’ Lady Galadriel said, returning the bow. ‘If we have offended-’ 

‘No, you have not. Our cultures are simply… naturally at odds.’ Frigga gazed up at the beautiful trees, listening to the mournful song of the Elves. Here everything was always in shadow, but it was never dark. ‘I pray this place remains unspoiled until the ending of your world.’ 

‘Thank you. All our strength go with you.’ 

Queen Frigga left a note for her sons, should they return before she did. She prayed they did, and that they could be reunited under the trees of Lothlórien. She and Haldir left, the latter insisting on carrying almost all their supplies. She was given a new cloak, and its magic would be useful on the road and conserve her own. They travelled swiftly on hidden paths. 

They spoke little, but neither had need for conversation. Frigga was at war with herself. She could not strike directly at Sauron, so she was pleased to strike at his ally. But, was this the best path? Should she have allowed Elven magic to sway her so easily? Should she not instead have followed Loki? Going to her own doom would not help him, however, but this White Wizard she could deal with. 

Haldir led her through Fangorn forest, a place unlike any she had heard of before. The trees whispered in a language she could not translate, but Haldir seemed to understand. He did not speak their language, he said, but he could sense their unease. Something was happening to upset the forest. The place was dark and crooked, but as long as they were respectful, Haldir said they would come to no harm. 

The path was even more hidden here, but Haldir was a good guide, and they reached the southern borders of Fangorn unscathed. They saw the smoke rising from the plains long before they spied the top of Orthanc. Queen Frigga looked forward to returning to Isengard. 

XXX 

The borders of Mordor were endless in either direction. The mountains were dark and sharp, but nothing compared to the Morannon. The Gates were massive, even by Asgard’s standards. Made of the darkest metal Loki had ever seen, and spiked all along its battlements. From their hiding place behind a boulder, the pair could see that it was patrolled by several Orcs. A guard tower at each end probably held a large garrison or two between them. A whole army could march through the Gates without breaking ranks. 

‘Prince Thor is no doubt being held in Barad-dûr, if it has been rebuilt fully,’ King Thranduil said. ‘The thought of that monstrous tower standing again is sickening to me.’ 

‘If it looks half as bad as this construction, I agree,’ Loki said. He eyed the Gates, his stomach in a great knot. Thranduil placed a hand on his shoulder. 

‘We can still turn back, or find some other way,’ Thranduil offered. Loki looked at him, shaking his head. The King lifted his hand to Loki’s cheek. ‘I beg you,’ he whispered. ‘Do not go.’ 

‘I must.’ Loki leaned in quick, pressing his lips to Thranduil’s. He retreated before he fell into the King’s embrace. He stood, straightening fully. With a deep breath, he glanced down one last time. ‘Wait here for Thor?’ 

‘Of course.’ Loki was just about to walk around the boulder when Thranduil grabbed his hand. ‘Stay unbroken, and we will defeat him,’ he said. 

‘I will.’ Loki had no confidence in that promise, but finally Thranduil let him go. He almost stumbled on his way down the side of the hill. The long walk across the plain to the Gates made him realise just how tall they were. It was as though he would never reach them, like he was caught in a dream and running in place. 

At last he stood before the Gates, craning his neck to see the top. His conviction failed him then, and he took a step back. That did nothing to diminish the size of the wall of metal in front of him. He thought of Thor - how many days had he been held within? Had it not turned to weeks with their sloshing through the marshes? Loki had completely lost track of time. What if Thor was broken? He summoned up his magic before he lost his nerve, and his voice rang out, slamming against the Gates, the sound like a gong. 

‘I am Loki of Asgard! I come to exchange my life for Prince Thor’s. Open the Gates!’ 

Arduous minutes passed by in silence, with only the wind whipping at him. He would not ask again. 

A horn signaled the opening of the Gates. Loki stepped back as the Gates came alive, rumbling and scraping open at a snail’s pace. When they were open enough for Loki to see beyond, he saw a single rider approaching. Far behind him a row of Orcs followed. Was Thor among them? 

As the rider neared, Loki felt a terrible cold blow into him. The stench of fear followed. He recognized it instantly. The feeling of despair and terror coated his insides. The Black Rider stopped some twenty feet before him. The Wraith had been remade by Sauron’s power. On top of his hood, a spiked crown sat, with a single red stone. This was the Leader of the Nazgûl. 

‘Prince Loki,’ he called, his voice hissing and low, yet reaching Loki’s ear without trouble. ‘My Master welcomes you to his Kingdom.’ 

‘Where is Thor? I will not take one step into your Master’s Kingdom until he is beyond the Gates.’ The Wraith cocked his head to the side, considering. He glanced over his shoulder, and Loki followed his eyeless gaze to the pack of Orcs. They were carrying something between them, Loki realized. They marched past some distance away, and Loki could see Thor’s unconscious body being held between eight Orcs. They went beyond the Gates and dropped him on the ground. Loki almost ran to him, but many of the Orcs lined up single file, creating a wall between them. 

‘Do not think to trick us,’ the rider hissed. ‘Follow me, and they will as well. Go back, and they will spear him like a pig.’ Loki swallowed, wondering if he should make a move. Several Orcs drew their weapons and put them to Thor’s neck. 

‘How do I know you will leave him alive?’ Loki looked back to the Rider. 

‘Our Master keeps his word.’ Loki almost scoffed at that. He hesitated. He took a step forward. The Orcs behind him followed, but not all. They could still cut Thor’s throat in half a second. He took another step, and another. The line of Orcs mirrored his movements. The Rider held up his hand. ‘Remove Aeglos first.’ 

Loki knew this was a bad idea, and yet he did as asked. One Orc stepped up, a tall long-snouted thing with most of its skin gone from the left side of his jaw. He grabbed Aeglos before Loki had taken it fully from its sheath, and held it aloft with a cry of victory. Answering hollers of glee came from the all around. Loki glanced up at the battlements. They crowd hooted and cheered, and he heard trolls roar. The sword was clearly legendary. 

The Rider lifted his hand once more and the Orcs fell silent instantly. ‘You will follow.’ Loki finally looked towards the horizon behind the Wraith. They were in a mile wide circular formation, one side closed off by the Morannon, the other open as the mountains dropped away to a natural gate. On the slopes of the mountains around the circle were many crude huts, housing much of Sauron’s growing force. Beyond the circle lay Mordor proper, and in the distance he could spy two points. One was a ferocious volcano, rising from the plains like the Lonely Mountain. The other was Barad-dûr. Could base creatures build such a tower? It was far from a sleek, well-constructed spike, but what it lacked in finesse it made up for in brute force and height. A sphere of light shone at the top, red-tinted, an evil beacon Loki was now bound to follow. 

He thought he would be made to walk the entire way, which although difficult to judge, might take days. A horse approached on its own, however, and Loki mounted, feeling naked and more afraid than ever in his life. He did not know what was yet to come. He glanced behind him, and saw Thor lying alone on the ground. He was breathing. The Gates closed. 

XXX

‘Wake up.’ Thranduil shook the Prince hard. For some reason Thranduil did not wish to contemplate, the forces of Mordor had left Thor alive outside their Gate. That did not mean he wished to linger here while they changed their minds. 

Loki was now a guest of Sauron. Even as the Gates closed, Thranduil had not truly believed Loki would do such a thing. Why had he not acted? Probably because all of Sauron’s forces would have buried him in a pile of their own dead before he could take one step. Had Loki truly been so desperate to prove Thor was of more worth than himself? 

Thor opened his eyes and gasped for breath. He coughed, sitting up so he could spit. Thranduil steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. 

‘We must move away from the Gates,’ he said. ‘Can you stand?’ 

‘Where is Loki?’ 

‘I will explain later, come with me, now.’ He helped haul Thor to his feet and they hurried back over the hill, making their way down to the Dead Marshes. Thor seemed to be following blindly. The sun was shining through a thin sheen of cloud, and he kept shielding his eyes from it. 

When in the Marshes, he kept stepping into deep water, cursing at Thranduil even as he tried to help him. 

A good distance into the Marshes, Thranduil deemed it safe to rest. Thor collapsed against a little crooked tree, almost bending it back completely with his weight. He lay his head back and breathed, eyes squeezed shut. He had his armour on, though his cloak was gone, and apart from his paleness, he seemed healthy. 

‘Where is Loki?’ 

‘On his way to Barad-dûr.’ Thor opened his eyes enough to squint at Thranduil. 

‘What?’ he barked. 

‘He exchanged his life for yours.’ Thor shot to his feet in an instant, but stumbled as blood rushed from his head. He roared with rage against his own weakness. Thranduil grabbed his shoulders, but he was pushed off easily. The brute was strong despite his captivity. ‘He was taken alive! We can still save him, but not like this.’ 

Thor tried to walk back towards Mordor, but Thranduil had had enough. He kicked Thor hard in the back, sending him down on all fours, hands sinking deep into the marsh. Thor cursed, but fell silent when he felt Thranduil’s sword at his neck. 

‘Loki is unreachable now,’ the King said calmly. ‘You could bang on the Gates of Mordor for eternity, and they could easily ignore the little nuisance you would make of yourself.’ 

‘How could you let him go!’ 

‘I had no say in his decision. He would have rushed into unknown lands using his magic had I not slowed him down by guiding him on foot. Thank me for that instead. He is with Sauron, but he is rested and strong. Sauron wants his power, not his corpse. He will not break.’ 

‘He will if he is there for eternity!’ Thor looked up and glared, even though it meant Thranduil’s sword dug into his neck enough to make him bleed. Thranduil withdrew, sheathing his sword, offering his hand. Thor took it, and stood, shaking off the swamp-water. 

‘He will not be there for long, if you help us.’ 

‘How?’ 

‘Can you summon your weapon? Loki said it obeyed your command,’ 

Thor closed his eyes, frowning. He remained silent for half a minute before shaking his head. 

‘She is too far away. This land is so full of darkness I can’t see her at all.’ 

‘Then we will make our way back to her. You will then go meet Gandalf in Imladris.’ 

‘I will fly back to Mordor and hammer his tower to the ground!’ 

‘You will fail, and you know it. His flying Nazgûl will not be alone there. He will be supported by machines of war, and his own power. To free Loki, you must help us defeat him.’ 

‘What is in Imladris that can accomplish this?’ 

‘Nothing yet, but Gandalf is recovering a weapon of the enemy that was lost for centuries. It is bound to Sauron’s life-force. Help destroy it, and Loki will be free.’ 

Thor was thinking hard, and Thranduil hoped he had a quicker mind than most pure-bred warriors. He nodded after only a brief pause, reluctantly. 

‘What of my mother?’ 

‘She was wounded during the encounter with the Nazgûl, but she is healing in Lothlórien.’ 

‘I will see her first.’ 

‘It is on our way.’ Thranduil nodded north across the Marshes, and Thor turned to look, grimacing at the sight. 

XXX 

‘The Dunlendings are reduced to woodcutters,’ Haldir said. They lay hidden at the edge of the forest. The valley, with Isengard at the bottom, was changed. Smoke rose from makeshift chimneys on the ground. Large areas of the once lush garden were now barren. The workers were slow, but many, and more workers were arriving from the west, coming on the road. 

‘What of the guards?’ Frigga asked. Her eyes were keen, but even she could not distinguish the difference in clothing from so far away. 

‘I can see a few on the wall. They are watching the Dunlendings. It would be easy to start a fight between them.’ 

Frigga considered. Just then she saw a white figure on the balcony halfway up Orthanc. Saruman was surveying the workers’ progress. He stood for a few minutes before going back inside. 

‘I will confront him inside. Surprise will be my best weapon.’ 

‘What would you have me do?’ 

‘Wait here. The Dunlendings will not linger long once their Master is dead.’ 

‘The Rohirrim may attack you.’ 

‘I can handle them.’ 

‘Queen Frigga, please, let me go with you.’ 

She looked at him. He was sincere in his worry, not eager to fight but ready for it. ‘Move closer and observe. Use your own judgement. If you think I might need help, do so, otherwise, stay hidden.’ Haldir nodded, grateful for the trust, and Frigga moved swiftly from their hiding place. She draped herself in both Elven cloak and obscuring magic. Together, they made her completely invisible unless one looked directly at her in full light. 

She stepped into the road behind a band of ragged workers, and became one of them. They were questioned by the Rohirrim guards. They had answered the call of the White Wizard. The Rohirrim had no power to detect a magic user, so they let her pass. 

Once inside, she saw that all the Rohirrim had moved to the wall. The one garrison watched the workers enter, but seldom did their gazes turn in towards Orthanc. The houses within the plains of Isengard were now occupied by Dunlendings. The trees were old and strong, and it would take many months for all of Isengard to be stripped. One tree was being felled by twenty men at least. 

She passed an entrance to whatever was being built below. She glimpsed only the path going beneath the plains, but she could hear the work - the clinking of metal and the hissing of a smith’s water as he cooled a new forged weapon. 

Other places workers were bringing up dirt, making large mounds where trees once stood. 

There were a few guards inside Isengard proper. Two at the entrance to the tower. She became one of them and entered Orthanc with no questions asked. The last time she had been here, she had discovered just how attached Loki was to the Elven King. A fond memory now, compared to what had happened since. The stairs were empty, and the first several floors she passed were devoid of life. 

She had her sword at the ready. Each staircase made her heart beat faster. How high up was the wizard hiding? 

She heard breathing. Two human guards. Peaking around the corner at the top of the stairs, she saw them on either side of a large door. She had not been this high up in the tower the last time she had been here, but she could sense great power emanating from behind the door. 

Focusing on one of the guards, whose mind was open and pliant, she conjured up an image for him, stolen from his own memories. 

‘Bræga,’ he whispered suddenly, and the other guard looked at him oddly. Their leather armour would be easily pierced, but Frigga had no desire to kill them without cause. 

The enchanted guard took several steps forward, reaching out his hand to touch the image. The other guard hurried to his side, taking him by the shoulder. The bewitched guard ripped himself free, throwing a punch at the other. ‘Stop, what is wrong with you?’ The other ducked, and was forced to push back. 

The first guard ran for the stairs suddenly, and the other followed, worried for his friend more than his Master. They passed by Frigga without notice, sprinting round and down. They might reach the outside before the first guard began to see through the illusion. 

Frigga wasted no time, and stood before the doors, placing a hand on the wood. It was not guarded by magic, she realised with surprise. The hubris of Saruman knew no bounds. He thought himself completely safe behind his ringed wall. 

Having made her decision, she took a step back and summoned up all her power. 

The blast shattered the doors completely, their splinters shooting like daggers at the wizard within. Saruman had been standing bent over a pillar with a round, dark yet incandescent stone on it. The attack took him completely by surprise. He barely had time to turn and meet the onslaught. He raised his staff, but too late, more than half the debris had hit already, cutting him everywhere. He became a pincushion, Frigga thought with a smirk. 

Saruman screamed in pain as his body was pierced, his white robes soon dotted with red. His face was mostly intact, except for a large splinter in his left cheek. He grit his teeth when he realised who it was. Despite an enemy having just strolled into his fortress, his arrogance was undiminished. 

He let out a yell of pain and fury, raising his staff and sending all the debris back. It flew straight through Frigga, as though she were made of air. Saruman gasped as the feat of magic and his wounds took their toll. He stared wide-eyed in confusion, trying to see the illusion. He, the greatest wizard of the Istari, could not tell the difference! 

‘How dare you face me with such base tricks!’ he hissed. ‘Witch! Show yourself.’ 

The image of Frigga smiled. The real Frigga attacked with her sword from Saruman’s right, having slipped in along the edges of the room. Saruman managed to turn and parry with his staff just in time. He threw off the attack, then struck back with magical force, the power in his stone making it glow bright. Frigga was pushed backwards on the smooth floor, but she fought against it and remained upright. 

‘Foolish witch,’ Saruman muttered. He raised his staff again, but Frigga was far quicker. She drew in a breath and blew out, filling the chamber with smoke in a matter of seconds. Saruman coughed and made his stone glow brighter in an effort to see. He had severely underestimated his opponent. The fog felt so real, yet it defied his power and would not dissipate! 

Frigga’s sword sang again, and Saruman only just parried it. Weakened and confused, his white robes now almost completely red from his many wounds, it did not take many blows before he was on the floor, exhausted. His staff slipped from his fingers and Frigga let the fog evaporate so he would see his assailant. She put her sword to his throat. 

‘What do you hope to achieve by killing me, Queen Frigga?’ he asked. ‘It is I alone who can help you home.’ 

‘You are a poor liar,’ Frigga told him. ‘You know no more about getting us home than the guards on your walls.’ 

‘You should not involve yourself in matters beyond your own realms.’ 

‘You tried to capture my sons,’ she said. ‘You fought Prince Thor when we had your hospitality. When such a trust is broken, in my realms, it is a sin most unforgivable.’ 

‘And what did the Elves offer you in hospitality? Nothing but bread and songs, I suspect. I may not know how to open a portal as strong as you need, but my Master is your only hope of finding someone who can. Help me-’ His words were cut short by Frigga’s sword. She had heard feet on the stairs, and their time was out. 

Saruman’s eyes widened in shock, then they rolled back as he fell dead. Saruman the Red, he looked like now. Frigga sheathed her sword, and turned to leave, but stopped at the sight of the stone. 

She could feel its power, and it would be foolish to leave it. She ripped off a pierce of blood-wet robe and wrapped the stone up. She drew her Elven cloak around her just as several Dunlendings burst into the room. She hid in a shadowy corner, and was one with the blackness. 

‘He’s dead,’ one of them said as he nudged Saruman with his foot. 

‘What do we do?’ another asked. 

‘Leave before those blasted Rohirrim find him and accuse us.’ 

‘I’m not leaving without pay,’ a third said. They continued to quarrel over whether or not to start looting the pantry and look for treasure as they ran down. Frigga followed. Outside a scene was taking place. It was apparent Haldir had decided to act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General reminder of dates: I just wanted to remind people that this takes place a good fifty years or so before the Fellowship events. This means that we are dealing with the fathers of those characters. Thengel instead of Theoden, Ecthelion instead of Denethor. I will base my characterization of these on appendixes, encyclopedias, and with a good dose of inspiration from their sons. 
> 
> Notes on travel times: Getting everyone in the right spot at the right moment is extremely difficult when you're as obsessed as I am. Travel times are based on my own ME Atlas, movie-times, and Sulriel's fantastic website, http://www.theoriginalseries.com/traveltimes.htm Please don't take everything very literally. 
> 
> As always, feel free to offer corrections, suggestions, questions or comments :) 
> 
> PS: If anyone is afraid of some Frigga/Haldir action, don't worry, just a healthy loyal servant/royalty relationship.


	12. Chapter 12

Rohirrim and Dunlendings clashed, but most of the latter were fleeing. They had no chance to take Isengard for their own. The ones Frigga had followed ran for their lives. Several trees had been set ablaze, either by accident or to give the Rohirrim more to do. The scene was absolute chaos, but it looked as though the Rohirrim would triumph. 

Frigga prayed Haldir was safe, and hurried to one of the openings to the underground caves. She stepped over bodies of men of both groups. Underground she found Saruman’s metalwork. He was indeed creating an army in secret. Huge forges, armour and swords by the dozen, but who was to wield them? As far as Frigga knew, these Rohirrim came from a place to the east, already armed by their King. 

She followed the torches through an earthen hallway. The room beyond held Saruman’s army, but it was not alive, at least, not yet. 

The ground was muddy, and moving rhythmically, as though a hundred hearts were buried here. The stench was overwhelming, like rotting flesh, made worse by the heat. 

She put her hand to her mouth, holding her breath as she studied them. She used a little magic to remove the top layer of mud on one of the moving bulges. Some sort of sack was revealed, like that of a newborn, and inside something was growing, pulsing. It was a vile, unnatural thing. Saruman was truly a slave to his Master to even attempt to make such an army. She stepped back lest she vomit. 

‘In here!’ She turned - it had been Haldir’s voice - and let herself be completely visible. The Elf came pelting down the hallway, Rohirrim following. He stopped short at the sight of her. ‘Queen Frigga,’ he said. ‘Is Saruman…?’ 

‘Dead.’ 

The Rohirrim guards looked at each other in confusion. 

‘A shame, that he should fall so low into darkness. I see you have found his garden, one of many.’ Haldir turned to the Rohirrim. ‘Burn it like the others.’ 

The Rohirrim took torches from the walls and set the ground ablaze. The undulating pouches burned like oil, and Frigga could have sworn she heard screams amid the hissing sounds of boiling liquid. They had to retreat quickly once the flames were high. The air above was fresh by comparison. The Dunlendings were fled, and the Rohirrim were extinguishing the trees. 

‘Captain,’ Haldir hailed as a Rohirrim hurried towards them. ‘Here is Queen Frigga of Asgard. She has defeated the White Wizard. He is dead, and the last of his brood is burning.’ 

The Captain was high of stature and brow, with long blond hair tied in a braid. He had young blue eyes, but was at least forty. His armour was thick and oxen-red as the others. Under his arm he held a silver helm with horse-motif. 

He bowed to Frigga. ‘I have never heard of Asgard, Queen Frigga, but we are forever indebted to you and Haldir of Lothlórien for exposing the White Wizard’s plans.’ 

‘You are welcome, Captain.’ The leader of the Rohirrim bowed again and spoke of how Haldir had approached Isengard and told of Saruman’s design for an army. Being not overly friendly with Elves, the Rohirrim had at first not believed him. The Captain, however, had long suspected Saruman of some darkness, especially with the continued reliance on Dunlending labour. 

The two groups were put in a standoff when the leader of the Dunlendings refused the Rohirrim entrance to the underground workshops. The Rohirrim at once took to arms to subdue the wild men, something most had been longing to do since they first arrived. 

Then they had discovered the growing army below. A sickening idea none could have envisioned. The Dunlendings had attacked with tools and half-finished weapons, but they had little at stake, so the fight had been short. 

‘Will you come with us,’ the Captain asked. ‘As our honoured guest, to tell the full tale to King Thengel of Rohan?’ 

‘I would be honoured to visit your King, but I am now set on rejoining my sons.’ 

‘King Thengel will not believe what we tell him. Please, Haldir, you at least must come and explain what we saw. Isengard has been Rohan’s ally for many years. King Thengel will be very upset when we speak ill of Saruman.’ 

‘I go where Queen Frigga goes.’ 

‘Your King must understand that this was a preemptive move. You saw his would-be army for yourself.’ The Captain looked disgusted by the reminder of what they had seen growing below and nodded several times. ‘I am trying to get home to my own realm, Captain, it is… far beyond Middle-Earth. I must find my sons.’ 

‘Queen Frigga,’ Haldir spoke, turning away to speak privately for a moment. ‘Your sons are to the east, and your vision, in the mirror - did you not say you saw a field of grass, set ablaze?’ 

She had mentioned the vision to Haldir in order to understand where the different places had likely been. Rohan was a grassland, but why should it be her responsibility to see it burn, or to stop it? Mordor was east, however, and south, towards Gondor and the city of Minas Tirith, which was likely the second part of her vision. Would she reach Loki or Thor if she followed the visions? Going back to Lothlórien seemed suddenly unbearable. She would not sit in that dream-like place while her sons were fighting for each other. 

She turned back to the Captain. 

‘I would be honoured to see the Land of Rohan and her King.’ The Captain bowed in gratitude. He offered to have someone carry her burden, but that she would not. Haldir eyed the bloody bundle suspiciously, but asked no questions. 

They had to stay several days in the barracks. The soldiers put out the fires, made certain the army below was well and burnt, and set about destroying the caves. Most of the Rohirrim would remain behind to keep the Dunlendings from taking Isengard for a stronghold. 

The horses of Rohan were good creatures. She was given a beautiful red mare, and a saddlebag to keep her “parcel”, which she would not speak of yet, not even to Haldir. She glanced behind as they left the plains of Isengard, glad it was the last time she would set eyes on that dark tower. 

XXX

Barad-dûr was a hundred miles from the Black Gates. Loki had not realised. Its height had made the distance seem shorter, and with each mile the tower refused to stop growing. Loki felt himself pale when near the end of their journey he leaned back to see the pinnacle. All of Mordor was black as night, except the very top of Barad-dûr, where a red ball of fire watched over the land. It wasn’t just a magical sentry, Loki realised, it was Sauron himself overlooking his kingdom. His light beat down on them as they traversed the last leg of their journey. Loki did not look up again. 

Sauron’s fortress was like a thicket of towers, blacker than the volcanic clouds it was silhouetted against. It stood on the sharp end of a southern reaching arm of the mountains. The road wound up to a nearby summit, crossing over to Barad-dûr’s entrance on a massive, wide drawbridge. The gates were of the same black metal, watched over by hideous carved creatures, bending over the battlements like gleeful spectators. Some were not of pure stone, Loki suspected, and hid an evil, watching presence. Their blank, stone eyes sent shivers down his spine as he was escorted across. 

‘Welcome to Barad-dûr,’ the Nazgûl at his side said. He had not moved an inch on his mount the whole journey. Loki glanced at him. 

‘It is impressive,’ he said. ‘Even unfinished.’ He could hear the echo of work being done far above them. The Wraith did not answer. 

They passed through three more gates, each heavily guarded by the most misshapen Orcs Loki had yet seen. Inside the inner courtyard they dismounted in front of the doors to the main keep. They were large enough for a giant to live inside. Red light spilled out, as though it was an entrance to the volcano. 

Loki followed the Wraith up the stairs, passing by two large statues, winged and fanged, with empty eyes that pierced into his soul. He hesitated, fighting against their gaze. The Wraith turned at the top of the stairs, waiting patiently. Loki braced himself, and pushed forward beyond the sentinels. He dared not think about what they had seen inside him. 

He had presumed he would be thrown in a cell at the bottom of the keep, but he was instead led upwards. After an hour of climbing, he was beginning to think he preferred a torturous dungeon. 

The climb would not end, and Loki began to grow tired. At last he was presented before doors that had to lead into the topmost room. They were metal, but so intricately cast Loki had thought they were painted wood. Covered in a square pattern, Loki didn’t see the shapes in each square until he was directly in front of them. Faces, hundreds of them, every one unique and in total agony, some with mouths agape, other with gritted teeth. The two squares at the point of the door handles held large iron rings in their mouths, as though choking on them. 

‘My Master waits inside,’ the Nazgûl said, and left back down the stairs. Loki watched him until he disappeared round the corner below. He faced the doors of misery, and grabbed one of the iron rings, pushing. His heart was beating loud enough to be mistaken for the hammering outside. 

The room beyond was a large throne room. A dozen pillars flanked either side of a passage of red stone, mimicking a kingly carpet. Around each pillar was curled a different stone creature, rather beautifully carved. Snakes, dragons, and serpent-like animals Loki had never seen, looked down from the ramparts with bared, sharp teeth. Between each stood a basin of burning oil. At the end of the long room there was no thrown, but instead a platform. Above this a glowing red light was shining like a spotlight from an enormous glass disk or shimmering stone of some kind. Loki knew that above that Sauron’s Eye kept watch. 

To the left of the platform was an open archway to a balcony, with a perfect view of the plains and the volcano to the south-west. 

The platform was empty. Loki forced himself to move forward, wondering if one of the coiled creatures would jump on him as he passed. 

When he was directly in front of the platform he stopped as the room grew cold as ice in a matter of seconds. It was the same fearful cold the Nazgûls brought with them, only much more powerful. Loki saw his breath on the air. The red light was not warm at all, and in the shining streams of light he saw movement. 

A shape was coalescing, into that of a man. A black wraith, tall like an elf, with no eyes or features,or clothes. Still, Loki felt eyes on him. They were curious, but above all, extremely satisfied. 

‘Loki of Asgard.’ His voice was hoarse and shrieking, yet somehow low, reverberating through Loki’s body like a tremor. ‘We meet at last.’ 

‘Sauron, Lord of Mordor,’ Loki said, giving a slight bow, never taking his eyes off the shape. It twitched at the name. 

‘Sauron is the name given to me by my enemies. It means “abominable” in the foul speech of the Elves.’ 

‘Then should you not be pleased? You are so overwhelming and powerful, I saw at once that they could give you no other name.’ This quick reply pleased Sauron, and the cold fear that threatened to choke Loki subsided. ‘Might I ask, now that you have brought me all the way here, what do you intend to do with me?’ 

The shape pulsed, becoming more solid. Loki narrowed his eyes at the display of power. Another pulse, and the black smoke had almost frozen into a physical body. It looked black and metallic like the tower they were in, and still had no features. 

‘I do not wish to do anything to you, Prince Loki.’ 

‘I can not bring you Thor’s hammer if that is what you seek.’ 

‘I exchanged his life for yours. Why do you think I desire him?’ Sauron moved, walking slowly forward to the edge of the platform. Loki forced himself to remain still. ‘Why should I desire the brute force of a man with a workman’s tool, when I can welcome a great sorcerer to my citadel?’ 

Loki knew the words were meant to flatter, though one fact remained undeniable: Thor was outside of Mordor, alive, and Mjølnir was now beyond Sauron’s reach. He did want Loki’s power, not Thor’s. But why? Was he not a great enough sorcerer himself? 

‘What need have you of a sorcerer?’ 

‘My needs are many. You might, for example, help me right now.’ 

‘How?’ 

‘A body.’ The word was a whispered promise of things to come if Loki did as asked. ‘My own was lost many centuries ago.’ Loki observed the dark metal-like body and knew he might be able to lend his power so the wraith might step fully into the physical world again, with a face and fully formed limbs. Sauron could create hooded creatures for his Nazgûl to inhabit, but a body to house himself required a special kind of magic, one not easily performed on oneself. Thor had never walked close to the wraith-world, but Loki had always been prone to dangerous curiosity. His mother, he thought, would never forgive him if he dabbled in dark magic. 

‘And what if I refuse?’ 

‘You will remain my honoured guest.’ That was a half-lie at best - though a part of Loki could not be certain. Sauron the Deceiver he was indeed. His words, though grating on the ears, where like a balm to frayed nerves. Loki wanted to believe, and that was Sauron’s greatest weapon. ‘You require rest after your long journey.’ The doors banged open at some silent command, and the Nazgûl returned. Loki was dismissed. As he followed his jailor to whatever dungeon awaited him, he felt Sauron’s shape dissipate, returning to the red light above Barad-dûr to observe his realm. 

Loki’s cell was not in the dungeon, but high in a lower, adjoining tower. Plain stone walls, about twelve by twelve feet, with a small cold fireplace. The bed looked plain but comfortable, and the small window framed a view of the Morannon to the north. If he had to describe it in one word, it would be drafty. 

There was nothing else, and as the door closed behind him, Loki understood. Sauron was playing the long game. It would be a one of give and take. Give a comfortable bed, take his will to resist, through flattery or torture, whichever Sauron thought would work quicker. Never let his “guest” know which was coming; if he would get the carrot or the whip. 

Knowing what sort of game he was playing gave Loki no comfort. He was utterly alone, feeling the cold far more acutely that he should, and beyond the Morannon Thor and Thranduil were moving further away by the minute - hopefully. 

This cell was his fate, he decided, and lay down on the bed. As night, though indistinguishable from day, settled, the cold crept in. Colder and colder, until Loki realised the temperature was not due to altitude or wind, but the will of his host. He hugged himself tight and held firm. No one would force him into his Jotun self again. He would rather freeze solid. He would not be a monster in a cage, so he curled up and spent a very unpleasant first night in Barad-dûr. 

XXX

The trip back across the Dead Marshes was punctuated only by Thor’s swearing every time he stepped too deep. Thranduil would have grown tired of him long ago, if not for the brute’s devotion to Loki and their mother. He was determined to strike down Sauron himself if he had to, and Thranduil did not doubt Thor would get a few hits in before Sauron destroyed him. 

As for himself, he was of two minds. The Dead Marshes would not let go of him completely. Every night he saw the orbs again, calling him to join his dead fellows. He ignored them, but in his heart he saw history repeat itself. Could he lead an army to Sauron’s gates again? He did not know if he had the strength to face the death of his people on that scale anew. 

But neither could he leave Loki to his fate, or let Sauron stew in his tower until he was potent enough to unleash his forces. No matter how fervently he had sworn against it, he would have to open his kingdom to the world one last time. He prayed Gandalf had been able to deliver his message. What allies could he rely on to help them? That was the far more pressing question. The Last Alliance would in all likelihood remain the last. No matter, their stand against Sauron would be merely a distraction to buy time for Thor to destroy the Ring. 

Finally, at the eastern bank of the Anduin, Thor stopped short and closed his eyes. He stretched out his right hand, and waited. 

Many minutes passed. 

‘How long does this usually take?’ Thranduil asked. 

‘She is coming.’ 

‘Is there no way to spur her on?’ 

Thor did not answer. Thranduil sighed and looked at the sun, trying to judge how many hours of the day they had left. A low humming sound was heard, and he looked towards it to see something moving very quickly. 

Thor caught the hammer, the force enough to push him back in the sandy riverbank. He was grinning however and held her high. Clouds, in a sky that had been blue a moment ago, swirled overhead. Lightning struck the hammer, and Thor sighed as if a lover had returned. Thranduil had taken several steps back, but now he dared come forward. 

‘Fly now to Lothlórien and see Queen Frigga, but do not linger long. Gandalf might already have retrieved the weapon of the enemy.’ 

‘I might carry you with me, you need not walk.’ 

‘Tempting though it is to fly.’ In truth it was not tempting at all. ‘I must head directly north and reach my southern garrison. I have an army to gather.’ Thor nodded, thanked him, and shot into the air. Thranduil watched him until he was but a speck on the horizon. He redistributed the rest of the supplies so he had but one burden to carry, then set off for the north, and home. 

XXX

Loki began shivering halfway through the night. Even he could not withstand the pernicious cold. Now that he knew how easily he might change to relieve the pain, he felt his body try to betray him. This meant he dared not fall asleep. 

After a few hours of being curled into a ball, shaking like a leaf, he began having strange visions of ice. It was smooth to the touch, and he slept comfortably on a block, his bare skin against it. He shook these visions off, but they returned again and again. Sometimes he was summoning the ice to him, making spears to elongate his arms so he might strike at his enemies. Always he forced himself to return to his abysmal cell. 

Loki was a patient creature, but he eventually lost count of the hours. The cold appeared to him like a sentient creature, gnawing at his skin. Eventually it would break through. Hours or days, he had no idea. He became a thing of pure will. No other thoughts entered him except to keep his skin pale, and suffer the cold, or die. 

When his cell door banged open, it blew a gust of warm air in and he gasped with relief, the frozen tears on his face melting. He looked up to see an Orc jailor, who made grunting noises to indicate Loki was to follow. His bones were so stiff they felt brittle, but he made his way back to the top of the citadel. 

The cold had not left him completely, so when he again felt the cold terror of Sauron, the effect was twice what it had been before. The black metallic shape was waiting for him. Loki’s steps faltered as he neared, his heart fighting to keep beating. He thought he might fall, but then the basins of light blazed and the cold retreated. Loki breathed in the hot air desperately, and managed to walk the rest of the way, though he was still bent and feeble. 

‘I have a gift for you, Prince Loki.’ He prayed it was more heat, but it was not. Sauron lifted his arm and a side door to the right of the platform opened. An old man, chains on hands and feet, stumbled out. He was filthy, his robes caked with dirt and blood, but blue underneath. It was Alatar, betrayed by his Master. His hat was gone, his hair fraying. Hollow, defeated eyes stared up at Sauron in fear as he fell to his knees. He was piteous, without any power left. A harmless old man. 

‘Alatar,’ Loki said, voice hoarse, catching his attention. He looked confused at first, before recognising Loki with a gasp. 

‘He intended to betray you to me the moment he found you,’ Sauron said. ‘He is yours to do with as you wish.’ Sauron waved his hand and Alatar was thrown forward, rolling off the platform to Loki’s feet with a groan of pain. He pushed himself up to his knees, looking up at Loki through his wild hair. 

‘Prince Loki,’ he pleaded. ‘Have mercy.’ 

‘Did you have mercy planned for me when you offered your help?’ 

‘I- I- please, mercy!’ 

‘A gift such as this can not be enjoyed without your sword.’ Sauron pointed, and there was Aeglos, placed on a pedestal in a bed of green fabric - his elven cloak? Loki lunged for the sword and held it up to his face, listening. Yes, she still sang for the blood of Orcs, but a wizard’s blood would do just fine. The feel of her in his hand restored much of his strength. He had become far more fond of her than expected. He turned to his gift with darkness in his eyes. The wizard cowered. 

It was all Alatar’s doing, truly. Had Loki never met him, he might never have sought Saruman, or Isengard, or Lothlórien, or all the way to the Gates of Mordor. Had Loki simply been left in his crater to rot, as should have been his fate, then Thor and Frigga would only have retrieved his corpse. 

Loki placed the tip at Alatar’s throat. The wizard closed his eyes and whimpered. He was truly afraid, for Sauron had stripped him of all he once was. 

‘I think I shall cut off your limbs one by one, and throw them from the tower.’ 

‘No, please, you are not capable of such cruelty, Prince Loki. You have mercy!’ 

‘Not today.’ Loki made a quick slash, and Alatar’s right arm was off just above the elbow. The wizard cried out, and as he raised his other arm to cradle the wound, Loki’s second strike took it off at the wrist. Alatar screamed, falling back as blood drained from him, until Loki stood in a pool of it. Once he saw what he had done, Loki stepped back. He had lost all stomach for revenge. He glanced up at Sauron, wondering if this was what the Dark Lord had wanted. 

Aeglos hummed in his hand. He could strike at the Sauron’s wraith-shape now, but would it connect? Alatar was screaming himself voiceless, his strength leaving him. He would be dead in minutes. Loki glanced down at him and waved his hand, using up his newfound strength to send the wizard out and over the balcony railing. 

Alatar’s screams died away long before he reached the ground. 

Loki took several deep breaths, then walked calmly and as straight as he could to the pedestal, placing Aeglos gently down. He looked to Sauron. The shape was unreadable. 

‘You need food. You are weak.’ Loki hated himself for the way his body craved sustenance in that moment. It would betray him completely eventually. For now, he must allow Sauron to play his game. It would be food now, and cold again tonight. 

He received food unlike any he had had before in Middle-Earth. It was taken from the south, where most of Sauron’s human forces came from. It was the first time Loki had seen men in Sauron’s service. They were not constantly filled with terror, surprisingly. One young man who served him wine caught his eye for half a moment. There was curiosity in his face, and that meant that this young man was not broken. 

The hall he was eating in was even larger than the throne room, and made Loki feel small, alone at the end of the long table. He tried to eat to regain strength, but it was difficult. For all he knew, the food might contain some potion that would make him vulnerable or cloud his judgement. 

‘It’s not poisoned,’ the young man whispered as he poured more wine. Loki glanced at him sharply before looking to see if the other servants were out of earshot. ‘I helped prepare it.’ 

Before Loki could answer he was left alone. No poison. The knowledge did little to increase his appetite. 

After the meal he was taken back to his cell and the cold. He kneeled down by the fireplace and wondered if he might take some material from the bed and light it. The howling wind made him suspect he might fail, however, so he curled up as before, keeping the bedding for himself. 

XXX 

Prince Thor landed on the outskirts of Lothlórien, just as King Thranduil had instructed. He was escorted into the beautiful realm to Lady Galadriel, who relayed the news that Queen Frigga was gone. Thor’s first instinct was to fly to her, but the Lady Galadriel soothed his anger enough for him to read a note from his mother. In it she spoke of her vision and the paths it might lead her down. Middle-Earth was in chaos, and it would fall even deeper into it if they did not play their part. Without peace, they would never get home. 

She asked Thor to meet Gandalf in Rivendell, and do what they asked of him. Their paths would join together again soon. 

Thor did as she asked, and flew the many miles north along the Misty Mountains’ eastern slopes, flying over the pass they had crossed over on foot so long ago. In Imladris he met Lord Elrond, who unfortunately had troubling news. Gandalf had not returned from the Shire, where the weapon of the enemy had been hidden. He was somewhere in the wilderness, making his way to Imladris in secret. 

Thor would have to wait, something he was most ill equipped to do. 

XXX 

‘Come here, and observe my enemy.’ Loki followed the voice into a poorly lit circular room. The ceiling was high-vaulted, with black hexagonal tiles overlapping everywhere, all down the walls even to the floor, making Loki feel like he was in a beehive. The effect was disconcerting, the torches making the polished structure glitter and seem large and small interchangeably. He felt both claustrophobic and lost in a void at the same time. At the center was a white marble pedestal, on which lay a perfectly round stone, its depths inscrutable and alluring. 

The doors closed behind him, and from inside the room he could not see the frame of it. Such a structure was made to focus the magic, but also to prevent whatever lay inside from getting out. Loki ignored the strangeness of the room and looked at the pedestal. 

‘A seeing stone,’ he surmised. Sauron’s shadow flickered over the walls.

‘A palantír,’ he whispered at Loki’s neck, urging him forward. ‘Made by the great Elven smith Fëanor in times long dead. Look into it and see my enemy, the Steward of Gondor.’ 

‘Why?’ 

‘I wish to see what you make of him.’ 

Swallowing, Loki bent his head to see into the stone. The magi took hold of him at once, drawing his mind’s eye as though through a maelstrom. He fought to keep himself in balance, but soon the Stone seemed to accept his power over it. He saw a vision through a keyhole in the dark, of a room much like this one, only white, with a checkered marble floor and three thin windows along one side of the room. The stone was in a tower. 

Through the windows he could see if only he pushed his mind there. A white city, divided by thick walls, like steps down to a great grass plain. Minas Tirith, he heard her name from the people crowding her streets. Beyond the plain was tilled land, a river, and another white city glinting in the sun. A darkness lay on the horizon, storm clouds hugging a formidable mountain range. It was Mordor - he was looking back at himself. 

‘Who are you? You are not Mairon.’ 

Loki returned to the room, seeing a man staring at him curiously. He had long dark hair, greying at the temples, and wore fine green robes of rich embroidery. He had many rings, but no other jewellery. There was no great beauty to him except for his kingly stature. His eyes were kind, filled with wisdom, but Loki dismissed him as a worthy enemy due to lack of strength. 

He decided to test the seeing stone and pushed into the man’s mind. At once it lay open before him. This man was named Ecthelion the Second, the twenty-fifth ruling Steward of Gondor. A wise and patient man, but in danger of being indecisive and too kind. His inquisitiveness had been his downfall, ensnared by Sauron in his guise as Mairon, the Admirable, who had whispered many secrets and shared knowledge of life and death. 

Ecthelion was still too wise to be further ensnared. He might be misled enough to lay down his arms if Sauron were to strike, but Loki now saw Sauron’s plan, placed in Ecthelion’s mind. He wished for nothing more than an attack by Gondor on Rohan. He had been feeding the Steward lies, and shown him “proof” through the stone, all seeing and always truthful. 

‘I am Loki, a friend of Mairon,’ he said into Ecthelion’s mind in his most soothing voice. The stone’s power was incredible, or perhaps it was the Steward’s weakness. He saw all the man’s life laid bare, from his first heartbreak to his worry over his son. Every day was a challenge to raise Gondor’s peace and prosperity, and to have the wisest rule and be an example to all. Naivete in a ruler was a dangerous thing, even if tempered by wisdom. 

‘What do you want?’ 

‘I came merely to gaze at Ecthelion II. Mairon had admired your wisdom for so long, I wished to see why he was so fond of you.’ The flattery did little, but it was enough for Ecthelion to not immediately dismiss him. Their time was cut short, however, when the Steward was called away. He covered the stone with a cloth, and hurried from the room. 

Loki almost retreated back to Barad-dûr, when he considered that he might easily slip under the fabric and wander the corridors for a little. He used his own magic, letting himself be projected fully into the room. He had no power to move anything, however, and so he would need to become wraith-like to escape the room. 

He was spared that feat of strength, however, when the door creaked open. A young man, no more than thirty at most, spied inside. At the sight of Loki fully formed he pushed into the room, alarmed. 

‘Who are you? How did you get in here? Speak or I will strike you down where you stand!’ 

He was far more handsome than Ecthelion, even with such strong features. He did have the same long dark hair. His clothing was princely, with a fine red shirt worn under a blue tunic fitted with silver buttons, and leather trousers going down into knee-high boots. At his hip was a sword, and around his neck was a beautiful medallion. 

‘I came from the Stone. I am Loki of Asgard, friend of Mairon.’ 

‘So it is true, my father spends his private time in conversation with the ancient stone.’ Jealousy, a very lucrative emotion. 

‘See for yourself,’ Loki indicated the covered stone. The man narrowed his eyes, but strode determinedly to the pedestal and ripped the cloth from the stone. At once Loki had access to all its power, and he saw into the man’s mind far more easily that he would alone. 

This was Denethor, son of Ecthelion. A far more worthy enemy, and a much more useful ally. Compared to his father, his mind was crooked and ambitious, a combination greatly desired by the likes of Sauron. Loki smiled at him as he was enraptured by the Stone’s beauty. But oh, this Stone in Loki’s hands was a powerful drug. After so many miserable hours in the cold, his body and mind were singing. He could so easily break this man to his will, and Denethor would come so willingly, so gladly. It would be such a sweet little victory over a resentful, petty creature. 

‘What have you been telling my father?’ Denethor demanded. 

‘Nothing but the truth, that his enemies are upon him.’ 

‘You mean Sauron the Deceiver?’ 

‘Would that it was such a black enemy, easily spotted.’ Loki moved around the pedestal, showing his own beauty off to its advantage. This was a man who held such things in the highest regard. Beauty was good, like his mother, only evil was ugly. Denethor watched him with hungry eyes. ‘No, I am afraid Mairon has been showing Lord Ecthelion evidence of Rohan’s betrayal.’ 

‘Rohan,’ Denethor spat. ‘Their jealousy would one day become aggression, I have said so for decades.’ 

‘It is a sad thought, that the might of Gondor should be broken by stable boys and farmers.’ 

‘Gondor will never yield to Rohan!’ 

‘She will if Ecthelion does not take our lesson to heart.’ 

‘Show me what you showed my father.’ 

Loki tsked, looking apologetic. ‘Forgive my insolence, my young Lord Denethor, but I swore an oath. Military secrets are for the Steward’s eyes alone.’ 

‘I will one day be Steward,’ Denethor proclaimed, ‘But even now I am Protector of Gondor. You will tell me or die.’ 

‘Of course.’ Loki bowed low, hand to his chest. ‘It will be an honour to show one who cares to listen to my warnings.’ Loki directed Denethor to look into the stone, and showed him all that Sauron had conjured for Ecthelion, only making it more urgent. Rohan was ally to Isengard, and the devious wizard was helping them to defeat Gondor and become the great kingdom of men in Middle-Earth. 

When Denethor’s mind emerged from the stone he was enraged. 

‘Rohan thinks it can launch an attack without us knowing,’ he spat. 

‘Your father knows, yet refuses to act.’ 

‘He has acted,’ Denethor said, thinking hard. ‘The army is doubling recruitment, but that means nothing if he intends to sit them behind our walls.’ Loki nodded thoughtfully, his face sad at the thought of Gondor in danger. He was allowing Denethor to do the rest of the work himself. 

‘I will speak to my father at once. Rohan will pay for even imagining they could meet the might of Gondor.’ He turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Loki considered going back, but he wanted to see his work completed. 

He followed as a shadow. Although it would cost him much strength, with the Stone he could see further than ever before. 

Denethor rushed to his father’s chambers, confronting him with his secret meetings with Mairon. Ecthelion denied it at first, but eventually had to admit Mairon was sharing secrets. When Denethor heard the extent of their communications, he grew far more jealous and demanded to know everything Mairon had ever revealed. 

Ecthelion refused, saying Denethor was too young and inexperienced. They quarrelled over this, then over Rohan, and by the end Denethor was incensed. 

When he left the room, Loki could see a new plan forming in his mind: he would rid Gondor of its weak Steward and its pathetic enemies all in one. Gondor would wait no longer for her rightful ruler. 

Loki, victorious and smug, allowed the Stone to send him back to Mordor. After the light and majesty of Minas Tirith, returning to the blackness of Barad-dûr put Loki right back in his place, and he tempered his expression. 

The door opened behind him, and he understood he must return to the throne room. Sauron’s wraith-shape was waiting for him. 

Loki bowed before him, fearful now his victory would demote him from guest to prisoner. 

‘You accomplished in an hour what I could not in weeks.’ 

‘Forgive me, My Lord, I only did as I thought you wished it.’ 

‘Your skill is impressive. You remind me of myself in my youth.’ That thought was not surprising enough, Loki despaired. ‘I once broke the will of King Ar-Pharazôn, from his prisoner to his highest advisor.’ 

‘I wish I could see such a feat,’ Loki murmured. 

‘I would need a body for that,’ Sauron said, and Loki’s muscles froze. He had not the strength, nor the desire, to help Sauron in that. ‘You are tired, however. You have done a great work today. Continue to work to my will, and your fire will be lit tonight.’ That thought sent relief coursing through Loki enough to make him gasp. He nodded jerkily. ‘A word of warning. Do not presume to know my will until I have spoken it to you.’ 

‘Of course, My Lord, I shall never overstep again.’ 

‘Then rejoice in your victory over the weak-minded Gondor. All of Barad-dûr shall feast in your honour tonight.’ 

Not all of Barad-dûr, thought Loki. Sauron’s Eye would keep watch, needing neither food nor rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra Notes (Sauron's name): There is some debate over whether or not Sauron would allow his name to be spoken in his realm. It means abhorrent in Elvish, and therefore it's not a title he would like. BUT we do know that the Mouth of Sauron uses the name Lord Sauron in the books, and obviously he is named the Mouth of Sauron. One theory I liked- I think I read it on a forum, was that the name lost its taboo nature as Sauron decided to enjoy what it represented for him instead: the Elves' fear of him. In this story, it is Loki who first suggests that interpretation. 
> 
> Extra notes (Denethor): Am I being too mean to his character? I don't think so. He's just getting ahead of himself in this story. His father ruled until he was 96, so I imagine it being like if Prince Charles was evil - he must be really getting sick of waiting.


	13. Chapter 13

Loki had bought himself only a short respite. One night was all he got, if that, before the fire snuffed itself out and he was right back in the cold. Sauron did not call on him. He was left alone until he lost track of the hours. Would the Dark Lord wait until Loki broke? Was this the next stage of the game? 

Work on the tower was louder than ever, and the clinking helped Loki keep himself awake. The temperature sank steadily, until Loki’s breath was on the air, his body begging for mercy. 

‘Why do continue to fight? You know you will fail. It is inevitable.’ 

Loki’s eyes snapped open. In the corner of the room, deep in the shadows, he saw red eyes. As he stared his eyes adjusted, and the blue shape of Laufey appeared. The Jotun rose, smirking. 

‘You’re not here.’ It had finally happened. He was as mad as Thor always accused him of being. ‘You’re in my mind.’ 

‘Of course.’ Laufey took a few steps into the dim light from the window. Loki remained curled on the bed. His Jotun father looked down on him with something akin to pity. ‘The more important question is this: whether you are hallucinating, or dreaming.’ 

Panic seized him. He sat up in bed, glancing around the room, trying to judge its physicality. The freezing temperature felt real enough, and uncurling made it worse. He shivered, staring at Laufey suspiciously. 

‘Why would my mind conjure you? Killing you is the only thing I don’t regret in all this.’ Laufrey looked as disgusting as he had been when alive - a beast playing at ruling a rabble.

‘You brought me here because you are weak. Too weak to commit.’ 

‘Throwing my fears back at me is not particularly intimidating when I know you are me.’ Laufey took an abrupt step forward, and Loki flinched, muttering a curse at himself. Laufey grinned. 

‘You need an excuse, as always. Father is here to provide.’ Laufrey spread his hands benevolently, then placed one hand on the mantle. Loki watched with growing horror as ice spread over the walls, down to the floor and to the bed. Loki lifted his hands from the bed as it froze completely solid. 

‘No, this isn’t real.’ The temperature was not sinking even lower. It was all in his mind. He was not truly sitting on a block of ice. Laufey laughed, and Loki glared at him, getting up from the bed. ‘Stop it.’ The floor was covered in three inches of ice, and before Loki could take a step, his feet were encased. He glanced down in horror, trying to wriggle free. 

‘Why don’t you just give in? You want to. That is why I am here, after all.’ 

‘A hallucination is not an expression of my desires.’ 

‘Then why don’t you stop me?’ 

Loki glared, then reached out and touched the mantle. The ice immediately reached out and swallowed his whole arm, chilling his blood throughout his body. He gasped, then gritted his teeth. It was only then he realised how mindless he had been. He could not fight the ice in his current form. This was what Laufey had wanted from the beginning. Why had Loki done this? 

The ice continued to grow, hugging his whole torso while Laufey chuckled darkly. His neck was next. It was just peaking over his chin when the pain became unbearable. Loki screamed, then let his body turn. 

At once the pain disappeared, and Loki’s strength returned to him with a woosh of air into his lungs, expanding them and cracking the ice. It fell to the floor in large chunks. Laufey watched with great interest. Loki took several deep breaths, then glanced at his hand on the mantle. It was blue. He had failed, and with no excuse. 

‘My son,’ Laufey mocked. ‘Welcome back.’ The shadows swallowed him. Loki screamed in frustration. He was shaking, but not from the cold. 

The door to the cell banged open. The Nazgûl beckoned him. As Loki followed, he refused to look anywhere except the floor in front of him. There were not many reflective surfaces in Barad-dûr, but he would not be tempted. He was brought before the Dark Lord. 

‘What nightmares trouble you, Loki?’ Sauron asked as his wraith-shape descended from the Eye. 

‘Congratulations,’ Loki spat, looking up and glaring. ‘You’ve won.’ 

‘Extraordinary. You are even more magnificent than I imagined.’ 

‘Spare me the flattery. You know me better than that by now. This is what you wanted, so-’ 

‘I brought you here to help me. I have yet to receive anything you have not been willing to give.’ Loki swallowed, cursing himself inwardly for his weakness. Sauron was correct. Loki had already done the work of a loyal servant. 

‘Your body,’ Loki said. ‘Will you cease your torture by cold if I assist you in reclaiming it?’ 

‘You are an honoured guest, Prince Loki. If your room is not comfortable-’ Enough games.

‘Fine, let’s begin.’ Sauron was not upset about the rudeness. The lights dimmed at once, including the Eye above as Sauron redirected his power. 

Loki braced himself. 

XXX

The Last Homely Home was silent in twilight, most of its inhabitants content to remain unaffected by the growing shadow in Mordor. The Elves of Imladris were not cruel, but many had simply accepted it was their time to leave Middle-Earth. Lord Elrond knew he must see this last battle through, but he would spare his daughter. This he swore. 

Thor had little patience for peaceful Elves. Only the warriors did he tolerate, and one young mortal man especially. He said his name was Estel, but Aragorn also. Thor listened to his tale with interest. Reared by Lord Elrond, falling in love with the Lady Arwen, and then to have his true heritage revealed. He was to leave Imladris soon and rejoin his people in the north, and lead them. Thor recognised the burden of leadership, and the desperation of young love. 

Biding his time while Gandalf retrieved this “Ring” of the enemy, Thor spent many days walking with Estel in the gardens. The young man’s troubles kept Thor’s mind off his own. It was only in the night they returned. In his dreams he was always bound to the same rack, listening to the hissing Orcs, and the Witch King of Angmar, as the highest Nazgûl named himself, as he gave instructions. 

The Witch King had been Thor’s jailor. The Prince of Asgard had suffered many wounds in battle, and even been captured once or twice - though always escaping impressively - but never had he suffered such precise torture. He often wondered what miracle kept him sane. Thor could ignore memory of pain, however. Pain would always pass, or else he was simply not yet dead. Something one of his trainers had said long ago. 

‘Lord Elrond told me my true identity prematurely,’ Estel said. The view from the cliff-top was amazing. Imladris in twilight, with a clear red and golden sky. But Estel was unmoved by her. ‘He wishes me gone from Lady Arwen.’ 

‘If you love her, she will wait.’ 

‘Why should she? I am but a man. She is an Elf, and the most beautiful creature in all of Middle-Earth.’ Thor smiled at Estel’s lovesickness, reminded of his own many trysts. 

‘How old is she?’ 

‘I don’t know. Several centuries at least.’ 

‘Then she is a patient creature, is she not?’ 

‘Yes, most of the Eldar are patient.’ 

‘She will wait,’ Thor smiled, slapping Estel on the back. ‘And if she does not, she will still be as beautiful as when you left her, while you will have grown into your full stature and strength. You can make her fall in love with you all over again.’ 

This made Estel smile, and he thanked Thor for his good counsel. 

XXX 

‘There is Edoras,’ the Captain said as they crested the hill. Frigga felt herself smile at the sight of the city. It was built atop a hill in a shallow valley reaching out from the White Mountains. A dike ran round the base of the hill, while the city was enclosed by a wooden wall. It was the architecture that made Edoras beautiful. Frigga had always been fond of wooden structures, but not the free-flowing houses of the Elves. In this city the hard work of her people was displayed. 

Edoras was kingly, but fragile like mortal men, and that made her all the more precious. Framed against the White Mountains, however, she looked as though she had been there since the before the mountains grew. 

At the top was the King’s Hall, Meduseld. There they would meet King Thengel. He was apparently a new King, only recently returned to Rohan after the death of his father. The Captain did not speak of the matter directly, but from his speech pattern and what Haldir had of rumours, Frigga guessed the previous King had not been well liked. 

The city was built by men of horses, that much was clear. Everywhere the carvings were beautiful and bold. The people seemed that way too, only something was in the air. Either her presence, and Haldir’s, was making them suspicious, or some news was troubling them. She was stared openly at while they rode to the top of the city. 

Haldir carried her leather pouch containing the Stone. She had told him of it one evening, and he had said it had been right to take it. Neither had looked into it yet. 

The Hall of Meduseld was that of a King unburdened by vast cities. His was a homely home, and his carved throne spoke of the regard his people held him in, not of his wealth. 

King Thengel was young, his handsome face marred by dark thoughts. He had narrowed blue eyes, bushy frowning eyebrows, and braided blond hair adorned with a jeweled crown. His clothes were red and green, with golden embroidery on every seam. No Queen sat beside him, but a young boy no more than eight sat on a cushioned stool to his left. The boy looked much like him, and wore a green tunic with a wooden sword at his hip. He was straining to see who was approaching the throne, and went wide-eyed at the sight of the newcomers. 

‘King Thengel,’ the Captain of Isengard said, bowing. ‘Allow me to present our saviours. Queen Frigga of Asgard, and the elf Haldir of Lothlórien.’ 

Murmurs flitted through the Hall, and King Thengel straightened with interest. 

‘Queen Frigga? I hope you are not offended if I ask where your realms are? In all my travels I have not heard of Asgard.’ 

Frigga’s armour was worthy of a Queen, but she was not wearing her diadem - too impractical in a battle. Thin braids ran around her head like a crown, however, and no one could doubt she held herself like a one accustomed to rule. 

She bowed kindly. ‘King Thengel, I take no offence. My realm is far beyond the sea.’ She indicated west, and more murmurs rose. ‘My sons and I were shipwrecked on the shores of Middle-Earth, and before we could build a ship to return us, we became entangled in this land’s affairs.’ 

‘Which affairs?’ 

‘Sauron and Saruman.’ The names darkened the whole Hall. Thengel had to hold up his hand to stop the whispering. ‘My son is Sauron’s prisoner. My firstborn is as we speak helping to defeat him. I travelled to Isengard at the behest of the Lady Galadriel to stop Saruman.’ 

Thengel demanded to know all, and so the three of them told of what they had seen under Isengard. The revelations were shocking, but what King Thengel asked after the tale was finished was perhaps even more so. 

‘How do you know this army was for Sauron?’ 

‘Excuse me?’ Frigga asked. ‘Nothing grown in that fashion could be for Rohan’s benefit, King Thengel.’ 

‘Saruman was our ally, and at the moment we might need an army, you tell me you have destroyed one.’ 

‘They were Orc-like, Your Majesty,’ the Captain said, shaking his head in disbelief. Thengel nodded his reluctant acceptance, but he was now more brooding than ever. Dark clouds were swirling in his mind, and Frigga suspected he was untried as King. 

‘Why do you need an army?’ Frigga asked. Before he could respond, the boy grabbed his arm. 

‘She’s a warrior Queen, Father,’ he said urgently. ‘She’s here to help, just like Mama said.’ 

‘Silence boy,’ Thengel wrenched his arm free, and the boy sat back and bowed his head. The King looked at Frigga suspiciously. 

‘Gondor is marching on us,’ King Thengel said. ‘All of Minas Tirith is emptied, by order of her new Steward.’ The people grew still, and bowed their heads in sadness. Frigga recognised the looks - these people had no desire to go to war with their own kind. 

‘Why is Gondor attacking?’ 

‘No one knows. I must summon all able-bodied riders and pray they reach us in time. My father loved going to war, Queen Frigga, but I always thought my rule would be a watchful peace.’ 

‘If war is upon you, defending yourself does not make you a warmonger.’ 

‘I hope history will note that.’ King Thengel rose and all bowed. ‘Queen Frigga and the elf Haldir are our honoured guests. They have revealed Saruman the White’s true allegiance. We will have no aid from the east. Rohan stands alone.’ 

He ordered food and a place to rest for his guests, then departed. The boy stared at them for a moment longer, before hurrying after. 

Frigga looked to Haldir, and they spoke without words. Minas Tirith was emptying. Her visions were all true. Only burning grass, and Loki in black remained. 

XXX

Loki felt cold stone against his cheek. As he became conscious, he realised he was lying on the floor. Opening his eyes, he regretted it immediately a wave of dizziness made everything blur. 

‘Return to Minas Morgul.’ Sauron’s voice was far away. ‘I wish you to personally lead the attack on Gondor.’ 

‘My Lord, we should wait for fresh troops from the Harad. Our resources are spread too thin.’ 

‘I am restored. Rohan and Gondor will rip each other apart. My victory is at hand.’ 

‘But without Saruman’s Uruk-hai-’ 

‘Launch the attack the moment Gondor and Rohan’s forces clash!’ The stones under Loki heated with Sauron’s anger, but he was too sick and weak to move. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed away the urge to vomit. Dark magic still pulsed inside him. What had he done? He should be dead, and he wished he was. He felt like a rag doll. 

‘Yes, My Lord.’ Loki heard metal clink against stone. With his ear to the floor, the sound reverberated through his head. He tried to groan, but even that was impossible. ‘He is awake.’ 

‘Make him comfortable. I wish my new lieutenant to recover quickly.’ 

When he was lifted from the stone, the movement was so painful he did groan, before blacking out. 

When he next awoke, he was lying under sheets of red silk, in a large bed. The room was lit by torches and candles, but that did not necessarily mean it was night. As he squinted, he could see a canopy above him, made with yards and yards of silk, with gold and silver images woven into them. He saw the sun surrounded by stars, and remembered something similar on the mortal servants’ uniforms. Were the men of Harad sun worshippers? Had they perhaps been beguiled by Sauron, a sun come down to earth in the shape of a burning Eye?

His limbs were still weak, but his head was fairly clear. He lifted it slowly and saw he was in a richly decorated room. All the furniture was dark wood - dining table, desk, and comfortable chairs for the fireplace. Silks were hung round every window, and food on golden plates. If not for the same black stone walls, Loki might think he was free of Mordor. 

The door creaked open and the young servant from before entered with a mug on a silver tray. Loki felt he was naked under the silk, but was too weak to give that much thought. The servant placed the mug on the table with the food, filled a glass chalice, and brought it to Loki’s bedside. 

‘Are you thirsty, My Lord?’ 

‘Yes.’ The servant bent, placing one hand behind Loki’s neck to carefully help him drink. The water coated his fried nerves, and he sighed with pleasure as he fell back into the bed. ‘Where is the Dark Lord?’ 

‘He is inspecting the new armour, My Lord, in person.’ 

‘We succeeded then.’ 

‘Yes, My Lord. The Lord of Mordor has presented himself in his true form.’

‘Why do you call me My Lord?’ 

‘You have been made the first Lieutenant of Barad-dûr, My Lord Mordu.’ The name was said with great reverence, but filled Loki with dread. He had used more dark magic than he had ever thought himself capable, and yet he lived. What did that say? ‘It means Black Night.’ 

‘I am not-’ His strength failed him. 

‘You must rest.’ Loki tried to reach out and grab at the servant. Why he wasn’t certain; to explain? To beg? Whatever the reason, the words died in his throat as he saw the colour of his arm. Blue, dark blue in the dim light of the room. Lord of the Black Night, he thought. 

He tried to turn himself back, but it didn’t work. His lack of strength, however, was not the issue. 

There was nothing to turn back into. 

He could feel it in his core - his pale shape was gone. He had burned it out. Odin’s magic was gone. All that was left was a Jotun. 

His breathing became short. There had to be a way to reserve this! 

‘My Lord, what is wrong?’ The servant took his hand. 

‘NO.’ Loki tried to rip himself free, but he wasn’t strong enough. The servant, worried he was hurting him, let go and tried to gently push him back into the bed. ‘Don’t touch me. You’ll burn.’ 

‘Your skin is cold, My Lord. Why would I burn?’ Loki tried to calm his breathing, and realised the servant’s hands on his chest were not frostbitten. He could still control that. ‘You are beautiful, My Lord. I have never seen anything like you.’ 

Gazing into wide eyes filled with wonder, Loki grew nauseous. ‘Get out,’ he growled. The servant fled. Loki closed his eyes, dragging the sheets over him, and shut out the light. 

Sauron’s remaking was not the only thing they had accomplished together. Lord Mordu had been born. 

XXX

‘Black Riders have been seen here, riding north.’ Lord Elrond pointed to the map. 

‘How many?’ 

‘At least four, but they could be more.’ Thor frowned. He did not like uncertain numbers when it came to enemies. ‘Follow the river, and hopefully they will lead you to him.’ 

‘They know where the Ring is?’ 

‘They are drawn to its power, so they will be going in the right direction.’ Thor nodded, studying the map so he would know where he was. ‘It is unlikely Gandalf is alone.’ 

‘Who is with him?’ 

‘A hobbit, a halfling creature, about four feet at most. They are a peaceful people, and he will be ill equipped in the wild, his previous adventures with Gandalf notwithstanding.’ 

‘Why would Gandalf bring a child-sized creature into battle?’ 

‘Because he can not carry the Ring himself. He is already burdened with a different Ring of Power.’ Thor sighed, tired with the magics of this realm. He withdrew Mjølnir from his belt and walked out onto the balcony. ‘The Ring must not fall into the Riders’ hands. If it does, we are all doomed, and you will be stuck here.’ 

‘I know.’ Thor raised his hammer and flew west. He went as fast as he dared while keeping a watch out for black shapes. 

He saw them on the road about half a mile west of where the river Mitheithel intersected with the East Road. Four horsemen surrounded two shapes, one tall and grey, and one little. They were huddled together on a small hill by the road. Gandal had his staff shining bright, and it seemed to hold off the Nazgûl, for now. 

Thor flew down and landed hard enough to make a small crater. The Nazgûls’ horses reared back in surprise. Thor stood, raising Mjølnir and summoning thunder clouds. 

‘Gandalf!’ a small voice cried as the wind picked up. 

‘Step aside!’ a Nazgûl hissed. It started up the hill again, but Thor was sick of these foul creatures. And this time, they were on land, and easy targets. Lightning struck Mjølnir and he redirected it at the closest Rider. It burst into flame, screeching in agitation. The others charged. Gandalf stepped up beside Thor, his staff shining bright enough to blind. Thor jumped, grabbing one of the Nazgûls by its hood and taking to the air. The creature used its sharp gauntlets to stab at Thor’s hand, but he got high in the air over the river before he had to drop it. 

He shot back to the others, ignoring his minor wounds. The flaming one was riding for the river. One was dueling sword to sword with Gandalf, and one was riding along the road, a small body thrown over its mount in front of it. 

Thor flew ahead, landing on the bridge. The Nazgûl stopped. Its sword was drawn. Thor couldn’t see if the little one was alive. 

‘Give me the halfling,’ Thor demanded. 

‘You may have it once I take its prize.’ The horse brayed suddenly, in pain, rearing up and then kicking, trying to throw its burden from him. The Nazgûl was thrown, but the hobbit held on. His little sword was lodged deep in the horse’s side. The beast fell, and luckily did not crush the hobbit.

Thor was on them in a second, lifting the hobbit by the collar and flying to the air. The little one screamed in shock. Thor looked west to see if Gandalf was alive. He was waving at them, the last Nazgûl retreating. 

‘Go, go to Imladris!’ he shouted. Thor left him. 

The little one was surprisingly quiet for the ride to Imladris. Lord Elrond waited from them. 

‘Mr. Baggins,’ he said, smiling as they landed. ‘Welcome back to Rivendell.’ 

‘Thank you, quite the entrance, if I do say so myself!’ He glanced up at Thor. ‘Thank you for the lift.’ 

‘You’re welcome.’ Thor had to smile at the strange little creature, so unmoved by being pursued by the Black Riders. 

‘I will go fetch Gandalf.’ 

‘Quickly, we have no time to lose.’ 

Gandalf was returned, and Lord Elrond and he went to discuss their plans in private. Thor had no interest in their plans. All he wanted was to go back to Mother and Loki. He had waited, patiently, for Gandalf, and now that that promise was fulfilled, his restlessness took over. He hurried after the pair, ignoring the questioning look from the little one. He pushed into the room. Lord Elrond was standing, gazing out over Imladris, while Gandalf was seated at a table. He looked tired and resolved. 

‘Do you truly think it wise to entrust our only hope to a man from beyond the stars?’ Lord Elrond was saying. The pair turned when they heard Thor enter. 

‘Whatever plans you have, make them quickly. I must return to my Mother and rescue Loki.’ 

‘Your mother is embroiled in events herself,’ Lord Elrond said. ‘I received word from Lady Galadriel that Saruman the White is dead, by Queen Frigga’s hand.’ 

‘What? Is she safe?’ 

‘She is making her way to Rohan, but I fear that will put her into more danger.’ 

‘How so?’ Gandalf asked, leaning forward. 

‘There is to be war between Rohan and Gondor, if Lady Galadriel has seen the truth in her Mirror.’ 

‘By the Valar,’ Gandalf put a hand to his head. ‘They will squabble among themselves while the enemy is free to rebuild his strength.’ 

‘Then you are out of time,’ Thor said, catching their attention. Now they saw beyond the Warrior Prince to the son of the Allfather. Thor stood resolved, steady as a rock, Mjølnir in hand, vibrating with his passion. ‘Give me the weapon of the enemy. I will fly south, stop this war from ever starting, and lead both armies to the Gates of Mordor.’ 

‘You must not use the Ring,’ Gandalf said urgently. ‘It must be cast into the fires of Mount Doom. Only there will it be destroyed, and Sauron’s life with it.’ 

‘I saw that Mountain every day through my cell window,’ Thor said, nodding. ‘I will do as you say, even if I must burn with it. Just swear to me you will do all in your power to return Loki and Queen Frigga home.’

‘We shall,’ Lord Elrond swore. Gandalf did the same. 

So Bilbo was made to give the Ring to Thor Odinsson. He did so very reluctantly, despite his horror at knowing whose ring he had been cherishing for so many years. 

When the Ring was put round Thor’s neck with a silver chain, he felt its weight, many times what its size would suggest. Being not of Middle-Earth and strong of heart, he was well suited to resists its darkness. Only when he was about to take to the air did he feel hesitation. The Ring was an almost conscious evil. Would it weigh him down enough to pull him from the sky? He trusted Mjølnir, and took the air, all of Imladris watching him go. 

XXX 

‘Do you know why I and my people love this land so much, Queen Frigga?’ 

Frigga rode beside King Thengel. Haldir was behind them, then the rest of the King’s retinue. They were making their way to what would be the front lines. The camps were almost emptied, and the hundreds of riders were impressive, even to one who had seen the might of Asgard. 

‘Please, tell me, King Thengel,’ Frigga answered. She had spent little time with the King since her arrival. It had been frustrating, feeling trapped even if such a homely cage. Haldir had again been her only companion. They had discussed the Stone at length, but Haldir had urged against looking into it. He suspected Sauron had a similar Stone, as did the Steward of Gondor. And while it might be of military advantage to see the latter, the former’s presence was too much of a risk. 

‘On a hill such as this, the horizon is over a day’s ride,’ he said, pointing. ‘Some places it is even further. That is freedom, and protection. Rohan does not hide behind walls like Gondor. We see our enemies coming, and ride out to meet them.’ Frigga smiled at the story, respecting the warrior’s creed, even though it would not always be practical to see it done, or prudent. 

‘I admire that,’ Frigga said. She saw the line of the Gondorrim, just as Thengel had said. They had little cavalry, but their glistening armour was like a shining sea. The line was wide, and growing ever wider as the army marched into position. The Rohirrim were outnumbered many times over. This would not end well, even with victory. 

XXX 

In Barad-dûr Loki had been summoned to the throne room, but he had no escorts. His new servants had clad him in all black. Leather trousers, high boots, and a silken tunic with gold thread. Over this he had a long robe of woven silk, with a golden eye on the back. His hair, grown longer over his long time in Middle-Earth, could now be braided. Loki allowed them to do this to him without comment. He saw they had made armour for him. It was displayed in the corner of his room. Black as well, the helmet spiked and hideous. 

The platform now held a throne. Black, of course. Each leg was in the shape of a hoof, each armrest in the shape of a dragon’s arm. The back reached up, forming into a leaping serpent, as though about to swallow the person standing before it. It was empty of its occupant. 

By the time Loki stood before it, he could see Sauron was on the balcony. He turned when he heard Loki approach, and smiled. 

He was much like an elf. Even his ears were slightly pointed. He was beautiful. Pale skin, black hair to his midriff, high cheekbones and a thin sly smile. He could, if he wanted, soften it, and if he allowed his eyes to have some white in them, he might fool someone into thinking he was Elvish. As it was, those who stared at his beauty would always be disconcerted when finding black holes instead of eyes. 

He wore robes of red. Silk from Harad, with his Eye embroidered on the back. He had no crown, yet. 

The thing about him Loki found far more disturbing was his size. He was perfectly proportional, but somehow slightly too big in all directions. 

‘Lord Mordu,’ he greeted. ‘You are recovered.’ 

‘My Lord. Thank you for the honour of a new name.’ Sauron moved closer, and Loki remained perfectly still. When he was directly in front, he touched Loki’s cheek. 

‘Surprisingly soft skin,’ he murmured. Loki closed his eyes. ‘No, let me see them.’ Loki forced himself to stare, red into black. ‘I have made you my lieutenant. You will be my voice where I can not go.’ 

‘Yes, My Lord.’ 

‘First, I have one more task for you, to show off your skill.’ He left the balcony, and Loki followed. ‘You will oversee the battle between Rohan and Gondor. Lord Denethor is at the rear of his army. He is thirsty for the blood of Rohan, but you will make sure both sides spill enough.’ 

‘Yes, My Lord.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra Notes (on Lord Mordu): An alternative name for The Mouth of Sauron. The real character would have entered Sauron's service around this time, so I just could not resist adding a little twist. :) 
> 
> ps: Sorry for those who wanted more Thor and Bilbo interaction. I just want to get to the action.


	14. Chapter 14

King Thengel was to lead the men in battle, so once the troops were inspected, Queen Frigga and Haldir were escorted back to the near empty camps. They had a tent of their own, but Frigga had no intention of sitting idle. 

‘What are you doing?’ Haldir asked alarmed, as he slipped inside the tent. The women outside, busy preparing for the aftermath, did not hear his exclamation, but he glanced outside to make sure, then shut it tight. 

‘You said Lord Denethor has a similar Stone,’ Frigga said reasonably as she settled on her bed, the Stone bound in cloth on her lap. ‘I wish to see his plans.’ 

‘I thought you agreed it was too dangerous.’ 

‘Hundreds of men will perish, and I mean to know exactly why. It is too irrational, you saw that.’ She gestured in the direction of the field in frustration. ‘When I saw all those men, waiting patiently to die by the will of their Lord, I saw madness. Either I must risk this, or accept that the Mirror led me here simply to bear witness. All my visions have proved true. I must find out if I can stop one from happening.’ She was thinking of the burning grass. She did not know what weapons of war Gondor had, but the grass on the field was exactly what she had seen. 

Haldir sighed, but nodded. He went to the tent opening and peaked out again to make sure they were unobserved. 

‘I will stand watch. If you appear to be in danger-’ 

‘Then cover the Stone. Use your judgement.’ Haldir nodded again, glad for the continued trust, and Frigga turned to the artefact, slowly unwrapping it. It was beautiful, drawing her in immediately, but she still hesitated. 

Once she put her hand on the Stone, her mind was flushed down into its maelstrom. At first it was like being on a boat in the middle of the ocean during a hurricane. She tumbled, then a flash of light gave her something to focus on. Her world righted itself, and she could see as though far in the distance a tent. Inside was a desk, a chair, and a man. He sat brooding, anger plain in his frown. 

Lord Denethor was staring at maps of Rohan on his desk. 

‘My Lord,’ a hesitant Captain poked his head inside. ‘We are in position. The Rohirrim have gathered.’ 

‘Good. Let it be a fair fight,’ Lord Denethor grumbled, then gave a mirthless chuckle to himself. ‘Let Rohan meet Gondor head on. All the horses in the world will not help them against Gondor’s steel and courage.’ 

‘My Lord-’ 

‘Give the signal to attack!’ 

‘But My Lord-’ 

‘Silence, do not give me council, give me the blood of Rohan upon the field.’ The Captain swallowed, nodded, and departed. Lord Denethor got up from his desk and stepped around it, walking to the side table that held the Stone. He peered into it.

‘Loki, are you there? My victory is at hand. Is your Master here to witness it?’ As he stared, Frigga saw his mind, and it was cancerous. Far more horrifying than his hatred and ambition, however, was the evidence of Loki’s influence. He appeared in Lord Denethor’s mind as an angel, sent to bring absolute truth, and to reveal Denethor’s fate to him. All he need do was have the strength to act, and all his dreams would come to pass. 

Frigga wept inside her at the thought of Loki warping a man, even one already on the path to darkness, for Sauron’s purposes. What had that creature done to her son to make him serve? 

‘You are not Loki,’ Denethor said. He saw her, though not as fully as she saw him. He had no skill in magic or strength of mind to see anything but vague shapes and whatever she showed him. Treading carefully, she let herself appear in his mind as herself, only as she was at the bloom of her womanhood. He became transfixed by her ridiculously easy. 

‘Forgive my intrusion. I am Loki’s mother.’ 

‘Mother?’ Denethor sounded as though he had never heard the word. ‘But you are so-’ 

‘What has my son been showing you?’ 

‘What? Oh, yes, yes, it is magnificent. I have used the Stone to see my enemies, and with Loki’s help, I have seen their true intentions.’ 

‘Oh, dear,’ Frigga sighed. ‘He has been a naughty little boy. He often is.’ While she spoke, she delved deeper into his mind, using the Stone’s power to map out his every desire and insecurity. The motherly reprimand had awakened memories. She let her appearance shift ever-so-slightly into Denethor’s own mother. He was confused now, and afraid. This was not like any of the other times he had looked into the Stone. 

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘He is trying to exhaust your army on imagined foes.’ Frigga was a little overwhelmed by what she could do with the Stone’s power in her hand. She poked at Denethor’s memories, bringing them suddenly to mind. He flinched and stepped back from the Stone. 

‘What are you?’ he asked. 

‘Do not listen to her.’ 

Frigga’s mind was pulled roughly from Denethor’s, and back into the darkness inside the Stone. Caught unawares, she tumbled through the maelstrom again, before being grabbed and pulled against an invisible wall. She was trapped, but she could still see Lord Denethor’s tent, and Loki fully formed beside him. She could only see his back. He wore strange clothes, all black. Not yet the armour from her vision. 

‘Who was that? 

‘A faerie creature, sent by Sauron to beguile you and slow you down.’ 

‘Why?’ 

Loki must have affected his mind, for Denethor’s fear subsided as Loki spoke. ‘He does not want you to defeat your enemies. If you do, nothing will stand against you and all that you desire.’ 

‘Yes,’ Denethor muttered. He hurried to the tent opening, but stopped short, giving a bark of laughter. ‘But it doesn’t matter. I have already signalled the attack.’ 

‘Very good.’ 

Frigga braced herself and pushed with all her strength. What force held her back shattered, and she was propelled into the room. Her phantom shape appeared standing by the side table, and both Loki and Denethor could see her. Loki looked at her without emotion. He was so pale, she thought, but that was perhaps to make himself more beautiful in Denethor’s eyes. 

‘Lord Denethor, I do not ask that you listen to my council-’

‘Who are you?’

‘But please, for the love of your people, cast off all outside influence and use only your own better judgement.’ 

‘Here is the faerie’s true form,’ Loki spoke, turning to Denethor and capturing his attention completely. ‘You see she is really far older. She tried to trick you like a common-’ 

‘You will not speak like that of your mother, Loki Odinsson!’ Frigga snapped. Loki jumped slightly at her raised voice. ‘Stop this game at once, or hundreds of innocent lives with end today.’ 

‘Only Rohan has that power,’ Loki said, but they were not his own words. He spoke them like a man about to be executed. ‘If Rohan simply bows to one who has the strength and right to rule over all men-’ 

‘Please,’ Frigga begged. ‘Forget Rohan, and Gondor. All of Middle-Earth can go to Niflheim, if you will just talk to me, as yourself. Loki-’

‘I am not Loki. Loki of Asgard is dead. My Master has gifted me with a new name.’ Loki smiled, and bowed to Denethor as though in introduction. ‘Lord Mordu, at your service.’ The Steward looked confused, but Loki must have been influencing his mind directly, for he soon became complacent and smiled back. 

‘My Lord-’ A messenger boy ran into the tent, stopping short at the sight of its many occupants. ‘My Lord, you must come.’ 

‘What is it? Has Rohan surrendered?’ 

‘No, My Lord. The attack was never begun.’ 

‘What!’ Lord Denethor ran from the tent. Loki glanced back at Frigga, his eyes inscrutable, and then hurried after. Frigga returned to the Stone, defeated. 

Back in her own tent, she was shaken awake by Haldir. 

‘Queen Frigga, come see. Something is happening on the battlefield. I think it may be Thor.’ 

They both ran from the tent. 

XXX 

The lines of men of Gondor and Riders of Rohan both stood ready on a clear day, the field of battle wide and windblown before them. 

Just as the Captains of Gondor were about to signal their men forward, all eyes went to the sky. A shape approached at high speed, and soon the men realised it was a man. Many pointed in shock, some shouted it was a creature of Sauron. Yet others spoke of a rumour they had heard, of creatures that came with the fallen star, in appearance like men, but in power comparable to Elves. After Frigga’s strange introduction to King Thengel, the Rohirrim especially wondered if this flying man was of the same unknown realm. 

Thor landed with a loud thud in the middle of the field, the exact same distance to both sides. He surveyed them, and the men were awed by his appearance. He reminded them of the Numénoreans of old, strong and tall with Elven blood, and powers beyond even their reach. 

Thor raised his hammer and the clear blue sky became overcast. Thunder rumbled. He lowered the hammer and the sun returned immediately. All saw the show of force, and every pair of eyes was on him. 

When he spoke, his voice bellowed out, but his words were clear to all. 

‘Soldiers of Gondor, Riders of Rohan! Heed my words. I am Thor of Asgard, and I am here today to ask you to fight alongside me against the true evil in Middle-Earth, Sauron the Deceiver! He sits now on his throne in Mordor, laughing at you for spilling each others blood for him.’ Many of the men began frowning, looking east and imagining their true enemy. Doubt had been sowed, but too many had stronger loyalty than sense in their head. 

‘I know little of your two kingdoms,’ Thor continued. ‘But I know you are brothers of the race of men. Men of Middle-Earth. Do not do the work of Orcs for them!’ Thor now turned to face the men of Gondor fully. 

‘Gondor, think of Rohan. Those you mean to attack. It is Gondor who has marched the long way here. Why? They stand ready in defence, but who is to blame? I tell you it is Sauron. He alone has all to gain from this battle.’ The men of Gondor felt their doubt take over, and whispers went through the battalions. Only the Captains remained unconvinced, but even they were not disciplining their men, nor ordering the attack they had been told to order. Thor turned now to Rohan, and the riders sat up straight in their saddles and listened with keen ears. 

‘Riders of Rohan. Do not be quick to judge your southern brethren. You yourselves were in service to Saruman. It was Queen Frigga, my mother, who freed you from him. Now Gondor is in need of help, from the influence of Sauron himself.’ Although the words were meant for Rohan - who all now bore sympathy for the common men forced to march here - the men of Gondor also heard the words and became angry. They had been told Rohan meant to ally with Saruman to take Gondor. If the wizard was gone, what threat could Rohan pose? Thor spoke now to both sides, spreading his arms wide.

‘Do not take my words without scrutiny. Look each in your own heart and seek truth, then decide if you wish to kill your fellow man here today.’ His work was done. None of the men at arms wished to kill for their leaders today. King Thengel hoped Lord Denethor had heard the words, for he was only there to defend himself. It was Gondor who had to be convinced by Prince Thor. May he be as effective in bringing peace and Queen Frigga was at death, he prayed. 

‘If you seek a better purpose, march with me to Mordor now, and tell Sauron he must kill you himself.’ Thor pointed with his hammer towards Mordor, his words full of anger and a lust for battle. ‘He thinks he can defeat Gondor and Rohan without leaving his fortress. For this arrogance, I say go pound on his doors until he is deafened by the sound!’ Thor raised Mjølnir high, and lightning struck. The men gasped, but when they understood the act as a rallying cry, many broke out in cheers. 

‘Rohirrim, ride with Gondor! Strike down your true foe!’ Thor cried. ‘For Gondor!’ Another lightning, and several riders took up the cry. Soon all the Rohirrim were crying “GONDOR, GONDOR.” King Thengel was speechless, but he did not stop his men. He was proud of them for bearing Gondor no ill will for her Steward’s folly. Thor turned to the other side. 

‘Men of Gondor, march with Rohan!’ They needed no more encouragement, and soon the entire army was echoing with cries of “ROHAN, ROHAN” in tune with their riding brethren. Thor grinned at his accomplishment. He glanced from one side and the other, then saw a lone rider break from the line, a white flag waving high. It was Queen Frigga, riding hell-bent to him. She jumped from the horse a few yards from him. He smiled in relief, and he had expected her to smile and hug him in joy, but her face was ashen. 

‘Thor,’ she said as she embraced him. ‘It’s Loki. He is serving Sauron.’ 

‘Are you certain?’ 

‘I don’t know. I keep imagining it’s all part of a secret plan.’ A tear escaped from Frigga’s eye. Thor lifted her face to share her fear, holding her tightly to him. 

‘He won’t be there much longer. We will save him,’ he swore, even as the armies continued to cry in support of each other. As the pair embraced again, the more enthusiastic of the soldiers began marching to meet the riders of Rohan in peace, taking off their helmets and continuing their cries. Some of the Captains led their men themselves, while others lingered, unsure. 

To the south, behind Gondor’s lines, Lord Denethor was enraged. Again and again, he ordered his men to attack. With every outburst, more of his Captains made their decision and marched their men away in peace. Few had been faithful in their hearts after Lord Ecthelion’s sudden and strange demise. Only Lord Denethor’s personal guard were one and all at his side. Suddenly, in a fit of rage he ordered them to escort him home. He declared that if any of his men returned to Minas Tirith after him, they would be declared traitors and outlaws. 

He rode away with his guard before barely half of his army had deserted him. With him gone so abruptly, the rest were swept up by the spirit of the others. Within the hour, the soldiers of Gondor and the riders of Rohan had become one army, under Prince Thor and King Thengel together. 

They would go knock on Sauron’s doors, but first they would fill the camps with songs, and drink to peace between men. 

XXX 

Loki stood frozen, hands clutching at the pedestal, the Stone silent in front of him. He had left Denethor riding for Minas Tirith. The only good thing about that was that he would not be bringing his army with him. Most of Gondor’s soldiers would not be protecting her cities. 

But that mattered little if Sauron had to meet a twice-strong army at his Gates. 

What had he done? Loki’s body was still full of dark magic, and his thoughts were ungovernable. He stared at his Jotun hands, wondering if he should have let his Mother see his true form. Perhaps then she would have understood the true meaning behind his new name. 

He forced himself to leave the room. Sauron sat waiting on his throne. Loki suspected he knew- or saw defeat in Loki’s demeanour. He stood in front of the throne and bowed low. 

‘I am afraid Gondor and Rohan will not be fighting today, My Lord.’ 

‘And why is that, Lord Mordu?’ 

‘They were affected by Prince Thor’s fervor, like so many before them, and have joined together. Lord Denethor returns home alone, abandoned by his own army.’ 

‘Prince Thor certainly has the gift of leadership.’ Sauron sighed, rising from his seat. Loki kept his head down. ‘I am disappointed, Lord Mordu. I give you this simple task, and you let your brother snatch it from you.’ The Dark Lord circled Loki, his voice low and soft. He stopped directly in front, putting one hand under Loki’s chin and lifting his head so their eyes met. ‘Tell me why Prince Thor bested you yet again.’ 

‘The men were beyond my control.’ Sauron’s grip on his chin tightened, his sharp fingers digging into Loki’s skin, but not quite enough to bruise. ‘I did not foresee Thor's arrival. Forgive me, My Lord.’ Sauron smiled, but his grip did not waiver. 

‘Oh, do not be afraid. I am simply trying to puzzle out how a Jotun of your power has let that brute rule over you for so many centuries. It is no wonder you have never reached your full potential. But I shall free you, Lord Mordu.’ He let go, only to smooth over Loki’s skin, then he cupped Loki's right cheek. He studied Loki’s face intensely. Loki knew Sauron now had the physical power to crush his skull with one hand, but Sauron’s anger was hidden well. He kept smiling, enjoying the feel of Loki’s cheek. 

‘My Jotun Lord,’ he whispered. ‘I think it is time for you to visit my dungeons.’ 

‘My Lord?’ Loki’s fear spiked. 

‘It is time you learnt a new skill under my tutelage.’ By some unseen command the doors to the throne room opened. Two Orcs entered, dragging a servant between them. The one from Loki’s chambers. He was fighting hard, but his mouth was bound, so he could not scream. Sauron stepped around Loki, gesturing to the prisoner. ‘You will take him as your first. My second lieutenant will oversee you.’ 

‘Yes, My Lord.’ 

‘Do not fail me twice, Lord Mordu.’ Sauron departed from the room. As he passed through the doors, a Nazgûl appeared, and they had a silent conversation. 

The Nazgûl then beckoned Loki, and together they descended into the dungeons. The servant fought all the way to the bottom of the keep. 

Below there were endless floors of cells, and even more for every torture imaginable. Loki, already lost in himself due to the dark magic and circumstances, was almost knocked out by the stench alone. There were entire halls devoted to one form of torture. Every creature imaginable was there, but most were scouts caught, or men of Harad who had realised who they were serving and tried to escape. 

Loki followed the Nazgûl mindlessly. He would not survive this intact if he allowed himself to feel. Did Jotuns feel much in their natural state? Laufey had never shown anything but hatred. In Loki’s darkest moments, the picture of an orphaned child had often come to him. What creature casts aside their own? Only mindless beasts driven by instinct. 

He had let himself be led astray, and he had lost count of how far they had gone. When he returned to his surroundings, he saw they were in a large hall, twice the size of the throne room. Down the middle coming down from the ceiling was a row of brick chimneys, black from the soot, large burning forges under each. This created a row of stations for torture. Very efficient. A large rack was by each, with tables for all kinds of instruments, many being heated in the fires before use. Four little orcs at each rack tightened the ropes at the main Orc’s command. Others stoked the fires, or fetched water, or dragged off the dead to bring back the next victim. It was a workhouse of pain. 

It was difficult to count how many racks, but perhaps as many as ten stations filled the hall, though less than half were in use. Along each of the long walls were cells, about a quarter filled with new victims. At the far end were several wooden flap doors, down which the bodies were thrown when dead. Behind were probably shoots leading straight outside. 

The smell, the constant cries of pain, and the heat from the many fires was staggering. Forget bare cells or lavish rooms, this was the true Barad-dûr. 

‘Is it wise,’ Loki asked the Nazgûl over the din, ‘To waste so many on torture when his army is not at full strength?’ 

‘Only those with absolute loyalty are of use,’ the Nazgûl answered. When faced with such a scene, even the Nazgûl’s cold fear had diminished effect. Loki nodded and watched as the Orcs dragged the servant to the second station. ‘You may begin.’ 

‘I know little of torture,’ Loki said. 

‘If you want, I can demonstrate.’ “On you,” Loki suspected. He ignored the barb and went to the station. The main Orc was already sizing up his new victim. He bowed low when Loki approached, murmuring ‘Lord Mordu.’ He was only too happy to demonstrate. 

Loki tried not to look at the servant, but as he picked up a rather intricately made instrument, designed to rip out intestines without killing someone immediately, he caught the young man’s eye. Fear and desperation stared back, and hope. Hope that Loki would find a way to save him. That hope would have to be extinguished at once. 

The Nazgûl observed silently as Loki went to work. 

His first cut into the servant produced a muffled scream, so the nearest Orc removed the bandage covering his mouth. The young man pleaded for mercy, but that would soon changed to death. Once he realised Loki was not about to provide any relief, his hope morphed into hate. He kept asking why, what had he done? He was loyal, he was a true believer. 

Loki took each instrument from the Orc, putting it to use where it pointed with a grunt. He never hesitated, never looked into the servant’s eyes again. 

Learning the art of torture proved easy. A natural talent, the Nazgûl concluded. 

XXX

The party rode along the long line of marching and riding soldiers. King Thengel, Prince Thor, Queen Frigga and Haldir were making their way to the front. They had had a late start after the previous night’s festivities, but now the line of men was on the march east. Prince Thor’s armour glinted in the sun, and many cried out to him as he passed. 

‘They have fallen in love with you, Prince Thor,’ King Thengel remarked. Thor grinned at him. 

‘I am thankful my words were heard.’ 

‘I am too. For the first time I look forward to a war.’ It would take many days to march the army to the Morannon. It was likely most of them would die before her, but Thor had promised King Thengel they had a secret way to defeat Sauron, one given to him by the Elves. 

Thor had told his Mother, and shown her the Ring that now hung under his breastplate. When the fighting was at its worst, he would try and make it to Mount Doom. The key to their success would be how many flying Nazgûl he would encounter. He had left four behind in the north, though he had no idea how quickly they could ride to their Master’s aid. 

‘King Thengel, there’s an army!’ A rider cried as he rode towards them. He pointed towards the front. ‘They’re marching down from the north.’ 

‘The north?’ King Thengel urged his horse on and the rest followed, galloping after the rider. As they neared the front of the march, they could see over a wide area, and there on the northern horizon an army appeared. 

They could see the armour shining, but it was difficult to see who it was. Thor squinted, and could see the leader of the army riding what looked like a stag. 

‘It is King Thranduil,’ Haldir said with relief. 

‘By the Valar,’ King Thengel swore. ‘An Elven army.’ Soon the news spread amongst the men, and their lust for battle increased even more. Thor laughed in relief, and shared the sentiment with Frigga. Now it would not be a slaughter. Sauron would have to accept their challenge. All Thor needed to do was dangel the Ring before the Gates, and they would open. 

The three armies met at the end of the day, and camped next to each other. The Gondor army was more weary of the Elves, some of the men having never even seen one in person. The Rohirrim were not much better, but they tried to be friendly to their new allies. 

In the Elvenking’s tent, King Thengel and the others were welcomed with food and drink at a long table. Never had a place in Middle-Earth held quite so much diverse royalty. The Elf Haldir was not forgotten, however, even though he was of low birth. He represented Lothlorién with grace and humility. 

King Thranduil was at the end of the table, in resplendent silver-blue robes and a diadem of autumn colours. To his right was King Thengel, to his left Queen Frigga. To Frigga’s right was Thor, and opposite him Haldir. 

Queen Frigga wondered what the Elven King was thinking. Had he brought his army here all for Loki? Frigga wasn’t sure if she dared hope that was the case, but no other Elven armies were marching on Sauron. Lord Elrond was content to play the chess master from Imladris. 

‘King Thranduil,’ King Thengel said during their meal. ‘Your timing is fortuitous. You have answered our prayers.’ 

‘I am glad I caught up with you before you reached the Morannon.’ 

‘A toast then,’ Prince Thor suggested. ‘To three against one.’ Even Thranduil gave a small smile and all drank deeply from the Elven wine. 

They briefly discussed their battleplan, such as it was, which army would be positioned where. There were days enough to plan, however, so King Thengel excused himself early. 

Once alone, Queen Frigga spoke of her visions and the death of Saruman. Thor then filled them in on his rather uneventful respite in Imladris. Though Thranduil was a good host, he could not fight his curiosity for long. 

‘Have either of you heard anything from Prince Loki?’ 

Thor and Frigga exchanged a glance, and the latter answered haltingly. 

‘I saw him, in the Stone I took from Saruman. I thought I might speak to Lord Denethor, but his mind already belonged to Loki.’ Thranduil’s gaze darkened. 

‘To Loki?’ 

‘Yes, bent completely to the will of Sauron.’ 

‘You are saying Loki is broken?’ 

‘No,’ Thor said fiercely. ‘He is biding his time, I know it.’ 

‘Thor, I share your hope,’ Frigga said. ‘But we must always consider the worst.’ 

‘If Loki is biding his time, he is playing a dangerous game.’ Thranduil stared into his cup, his expression brooding. ‘If he is broken, we should be wary of tricks when we reach the Morannon.’ 

‘What did he say to you, before he entered Mordor?’ Frigga asked. 

‘Only that he was doing what needed to be done...’ Thranduil weighed his words. ‘He seemed to think Prince Thor’s life was more important. That the Allfather did not send you here if it meant you sacrificing yourself for him.’ 

Frigga closed her eyes and turned her head away, while Thor looked thunderous. 

‘I tried to convince him otherwise, but his grasp of the situation is fixed.’ The evening was cut short, all celebratory feeling gone. 

XXX 

Loki’s hands and clothes were steeped in blood when he was finally escorted back to his chambers, new servants ready to bathe him. After he was washed and clothed, he laid down on the bed, but did not sleep. 

At one point dawn must have come, for he was served food, dressed anew, and escorted back down to the dungeons. A new victim awaited, a man from Gondor taken in the woods not far from Minas Morgul. 

He was but one in a long line, and soon Loki forgot their faces, though their screams remained. 

Every time he inflicted pain, he felt the dark magic pulse inside him. His watchers, sometimes the Nazgûl, sometimes a huge hulking Orc, encouraged the use of magic to enhance pain or prolong life. Putting a stopper on death while at the same time causing it was a contradiction only dark magic would resolve. 

As he burned one of the victims with a red hot poker pressed to the chest, the Nazgûl stepped forward, the first time it had ever moved. Loki stopped his work immediately, looking up. 

‘Why not put your own skills to use,’ the Wraith suggested. Loki frowned, unsure what was meant. The Orc took the poker from him. ‘Cold can be a bringer of pain as well.’ Now Loki understood, and his first reaction was to shake his head. ‘The Dark Lord wishes you to reach your full potential.’ 

Loki looked down at his hands, blue as always, forever. He glanced at the victim, who stared back at him with wide eyes, terrified of whatever new form of torture he was about to endure. 

‘I don’t know if I can.’ 

‘You were afraid to frostbite the young servant,’ the Wraith reminded him. So they knew his every move. That was not surprising. 

Loki swallowed, and reached for the victim’s chest with an open palm. He focused on the cold, letting it spread from his core to his fingertips. When he pressed his hand down the man screamed. Loki withdrew in surprise, and saw a hand-shaped black mark. The skin was completely frostbitten. 

‘Good, again.’ Loki obeyed, and soon the man’s chest was dotted with black spots. ‘Go deeper,’ the Nazgûl urged. Loki took a deep breath and pressed his hand over the centre of the man’s chest. He screamed, but soon his lungs froze, and he was choking. Loki sent the cold to every nerve, then when the man’s eyes rolled into his skull from the pain, Loki froze his heart, and he was released. 

‘Excellent. Again, bring another.’ The Orcs hurried to obey, and Loki was asked to find new ways to freeze a man. The brain and skull could produce a wide range of pain, especially the membrane. Toes and extremities were best if one wanted to keep the victim alert. The lungs, piece by piece, produced the an almost exquisite fear of death as the victim’s breath was stolen. 

Days went by, until Loki could kill a man by the touch of a single finger on bare skin. He doubted even the best warriors on Jotunheim had such skill. They had never had this number of pale-skinned creatures to practice on. 

The Dark Lord was very pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: the final showdown!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter before the epilogue! Don't worry, the epilogue will probably be almost as long as a regular chapter, hopefully. Not all ends will be tied, but that's just the way I like it. Hope you enjoy it :)

‘Remember, you must wait for the opportune moment,’ Frigga reminded her son yet again. By midday tomorrow they would reach the Black Gates, so tonight was their last night to speak. 

‘I know, Mother. I will fly faster than I have ever done before.’ Thor glanced down at the Ring that lay against his chest. Frigga looked at it, frowning. 

‘Is it a heavy burden? I feel its evil.’ She lifted her hand, hovering it over the Ring. Thor took her hand away and kissed it, smiling. 

‘It is not too heavy,’ he promised. ‘It… knows that I am not easily influenced by it. Sometimes it tries to weigh me down, but Mjølnir always lifts me high again.’ He patted his hammer, which was leaning against his chair. 

‘It must have taken incredible amounts of dark magic to forge it.’ 

‘That I do not doubt. It longs for its Master constantly, yet I feel…’ Thor sighed, not used to putting his experience with magic into words. 

‘What?’ 

‘I feel as though it longs for an even greater Master. Its needs are limitless.’ 

‘Tomorrow you shall be rid of it.’ 

‘Yes, tomorrow.’ Thor said goodnight to his Mother, tucked the Ring away, and left her tent. 

XXX 

‘I have only heard stories of the Black Gates, but even my wildest imaginings did not come close to this.’ King Thengel stared wide-eyed at the monstrosity before them. The armies were getting into position. As far as they could tell, there was no movement on the Gates, no sign that they might open. 

Combined Rohan and Gondor had an army near five thousand men strong. Had time been on their side, their numbers could have been doubled. Thranduil’s forces had felt the need for speed as well, and numbered barely a thousand. Behind the Morannon, no one knew how great a force Sauron had built himself. 

The Elvish archers, some three hundred, would take the high ground at the rear. Gondor’s soldiers and Thranduil’s spears were in one large force ready to take the brunt of whatever the Black Gates spewed forth. The Captains of Rohan would charge at the enemy’s flank once the fighting began. 

Sauron must know they were here, but if he meant to ignore them, he would have to work harder. Thor, Frigga, and King Thranduil were all at the frontline, the latter with his own soldiers. Frigga gave her son one last look of hope and luck, before Thor walked away from the line towards Mordor. 

About halfway between the army and the Gates, he stopped, staring up at his former prison. He was going to enjoy this battle, or so help him. 

‘Is there no one to welcome me back?’ Thor cried. ‘Does not Sauron wish to see the gift I have brought him?’ 

Silence met this taunt, which was expected. Thor could spy watchers on the Gates. He could not see any light from that Great Eye, but perhaps Sauron was looking the other way deliberately. Thor would turn his gaze here. 

‘I have something that might belong to you! Come out, and you might see for yourself.’ 

He pulled at the silver chain around his neck and lifted the Ring to dangle in front of him, then he waited. 

The Gates rumbled, opening wide enough to reveal a man on a horse, riding alone. Thor frowned. Was it a man, or an Orc? It was wearing black armour, with a tall spiked helmet that covered half its face. The visible skin was blue. 

Thor tucked away the Ring and gripped Mjølnir. The horse stopped a good distance away. Something about the rider made Thor’s stomach drop. All he could see was the blue skin on the chin and neck. Even his gauntlets were the same black, spiked metal. 

‘Thor Odinsson.’ That voice- Thor held his breath as he listened. ‘My Master graciously accepts your gift. If you will deliver it now, you and your friends may leave intact.’ 

‘Loki?’ Thor dared not believe it. 

‘I am Lord Mordu, First Lieutenant of Barad-dûr. I serve the One True Lord of Middle-Earth. I am his voice, his Mouth. If you are wise, you will accept his offer of peace.’ 

‘Loki, is this some trick?’ Thor asked desperately. Loki’s horse moved uneasily, as if sensing something. 

‘Give me the Ring, and you will live today.’ 

‘Loki, throw off this foul disguise!’ 

‘Is this your final answer?’ Thor could not speak. He was dumbfounded. Loki nodded once. ‘Very well. The death of all these souls be on yours.’ He turned his horse around and rode away, the Gates closing after him slowly. Only when they banged together did Thor awaken from his stupor and turn back to the army. 

Frigga waited for him. 

‘Who was that?’ She feared she knew the answer. 

‘Loki, I think.’ Thor looked over the army and made the signal to prepare for battle. Horns rang out. ‘Lord Mordu, he called himself. You mentioned the name, but seeing it-’ 

‘It is a trick,’ Frigga said, a pained expression on her face. ‘Remember, keep hope.’ Thor nodded, smiling thinly, then turned to face the Gates. Sauron would come, but would he try to wait to tire them? 

No, he would not, Thor realised as the Gates once again opened, this time at a much quicker pace. The sight revealed this time was one even the Mighty Thor felt disheartened at. 

Sauron’s horde was vast. Orcs by the thousands, trolls, men and strange beasts. They were not disciplined, but that would not be enough of an advantage. Beyond the Morannon, the plain was thick with movement, as though the ground itself was moving and alive. From Thor’s vantagepoint, it seemed like the horde filled all of Mordor. 

Thor glanced at Frigga. She shook her head, and Thor nodded his understanding. He would lead the charge before attempting to reach Mount Doom. He could not see any flying Nazgûl, yet, but they and other weapons of war were probably waiting for him. Nor could he see where Loki had gotten to. 

Thor made the next signal as the horde moved beyond the gate. Horns rang out again, the soldiers readied their swords and spears. Thranduil called out for his archers and they let loose their first wave. Thor always hated arches, they slowed everything down and made him wait to charge. Tens of Orcs fell with every volley, but the horde kept moving, and then the first lines went into a frenzy and charged. 

‘Hold!’ Thor bellowed, waiting for them to move closer. He could not help but grin. It had been a long time since he had fought in such a battle. He would kill many evil beasts, with great glee. 

He raised Mjølnir. ‘CHARGE!’ The lines ran at Sauron’s horde, all crying with battlerage. The two sides clashed. With his first strike, Thor sent half a dozen Orcs into the air. His ears heard only the rumble and clang of battle, and his nostrils filled with the smell of blood at once. 

XXX 

After removing his helmet with some effort, Loki overlooked the battle from the top of the eastern gate. It provided him with a wide overview. He could easily pick out Thor hammering his way through the lines of Orcs. He had met a troll, which took a few more blows. Frigga was slicing through enemies with precision. 

Thranduil was not far from her, with his most fearless warriors, though the bulk of his army was at the back, firing volley after volley of arrows into the Orc horde. The Orcs had barely half the amount of shields they needed, and so the front half pressed forward into battle, while the rearguard hesitated into pushing forward into the archers’ range. 

If this continued, Sauron’s forces would be split in two. Loki ordered the trebuchets to fire. 

The first volley hit a large number of Thranduil’s forces, but in mid air several were abruptly reduced to dust. It was Thor. He had shot to the sky, driving through each stone like a bullet. Loki frowned, ordering another volley, but Thor landed on the battlements and began striking at the Orcs operating them. Loki shouted for more Orcs to attack him. 

While Thor took down the trebuchets slowly one by one, dozens of Orcs thrown to their death from the gates, Loki removed himself. His horse waited for him, and he rode at great speed along the mountain road down to the valley floor. 

New Orcs poured in from the south, having marched the long way from Minas Morgul, but the reinforcements would not be enough, nor arrive on time. Loki knew it had been imprudent to open the Gates. They had the numbers, but the allies had discipline, experience, and Thor. 

‘Lord Mordu.’ It was the Witch King of Angmar, come from Minas Morgul on his flying beast. Loki’s horse reared back at the gusts of wind from the enormous wings. The Nazgul wore its iron crown above its black cloak. ‘The Dark Lord is impatient for victory.’ 

‘Tell him it is not assured,’ Loki snapped. ‘The Orcs are in complete disarray already.’ 

‘If they retreat, they will feel their Master’s whip.’ 

Loki rolled his eyes. It was pointless to argue. The rabble was not fit to win a battle. Their only hope was victory through sheer numbers. The Nazgûl took to the sky, no doubt going to report Loki’s failure to his Master. Loki shouted to the nearest Orc commanders to move their troops faster. 

‘Lord Mordu,’ a whispered hiss came from his helmet, held precariously under his arm. He shivered at the call, and lifted the monstrosity to put it on. Once on, it obscured the upper part of his face completely. Due to the helmet’s dark magical properties, he could still see the mass of orcs moving like a river towards the Morannon, but he could also see Sauron standing on a balcony looking north. 

‘My Lord, victory will be yours. Just give me time.’ 

‘I care not for the battle,’ Lord Sauron hissed into his mind. ‘Fetch the One Ring for me.’ 

‘My Lord, Thor has it-’ 

‘Do it now! Or you will taste the torture you have so far only inflicted.’ 

‘Yes, My Lord.’ 

‘And do not remove your helmet again, Lord Mordu.’ Loki heeded the warning, and spurred his horse forward. Sauron retreated from his mind, but he was still in the shadows, observing. 

Loki rode through the Orc army, and far from all his troops managed to get out of his way. When he reached the widening gap created by the Elvish archers, he turned to the pathetic Orc horde and drew his sword. 

‘Charge you miserable rabble,’ he shouted, and his presence did something to spur them on. Loki looked up and saw a new volley of arrows darkening the sky. He summoned his magic and waved his hand. A gust of wind blew all the arrows far off course. The Orcs cried out with cheers and ran to join the rest. 

The renewed vigor and added numbers of the Orcs pushed back the allied forces. Loki was having trouble getting to the front lines. He could see Thor battling in the middle of it, having smashed every trebuchet on the gates. The other weapons of war were still too far from the Morannon to be useful. Loki cursed his predicament. The sudden sound of horns drew his eyes to the west. 

Men and Elven riders were charging their flank - Loki glanced east to see a similar charge from the other side. Loki yelled for the Orcs to meet the onslaught, ordering the trolls to the front, as they would meet the charge better. They were too slow moving, however, and the Rohirrim jumped into the battle, riding their enemies down as they hacked their way through. The gap was restored. Loki was trapped in the middle, where Sauron’s forces were now completely without discipline. The ground beneath was by now a soup of bodies of every race. 

‘Brother, stop this!’ There was Thor, bloody but unhurt. Loki pointed his sword at him, warning him not to come any closer. 

‘Give me the Ring and I will order a retreat!’ 

Thor shook his head, his face sad but determined. Loki grimaced in anger and jumped from his steed. There was no use charging Thor on horseback. He would simply fly to the side and knock Loki out. ‘Then face me!’ Thor gripped Mjølnir tightly, but he did not move forward. Loki became unaware of the battle raging around him. He would best Thor in battle, and take the Ring. 

It was calling to him, he realised, and Sauron answered with a pleasured hiss in his mind. _‘Take it, bring it to me!’_

Loki readied his sword. He had removed his gloves - or had he ever worn them? - and he felt the sword become icy with his grip. _Do not brittle now, Aeglos,_ he prayed. Not when he was so close. He drew in a deep breath through his nostrils and calmed the cold storm inside. Thor watched him, concern lining his features. Loki would wipe that pity from his face. 

He ran at him, ignoring Thor’s pleading yell of ‘Loki, No!’ He struck at Thor’s arm, but instead of parrying with Mjølnir, Thor sidestepped the blow, cowardly. Loki struck again so fast Thor was forced to parry or be hit. Again and again, Aeglos was caught or hit aside by Mjølnir. Loki proved quicker, and Thor was too cowardly to use his full strength against Loki. Finally, Loki managed to strike at Mjølnir’s handle, just an inch above Thor’s grip. 

They froze like that a moment, their faces very close. Loki grinned, the effect disturbing to Thor, who could only see the blue mouth and a solid visor of steel. 

Loki’s gaze fell to the silver chain around Thor’s neck. The Ring was tucked beneath his armour, calling for him. Loki grabbed at it, but Thor suddenly found his strength and pushed Loki off him with enough force to send him flying several feet. He landed in a mixture of blood and mud. 

Just as he was about to get up, an Elven warrior came out of nowhere, his sword raised high, about to strike. Loki fumbled with Aeglos, his grip slipping in the mud.

‘No,’ Thor was there the next second, grabbing the Elf and throwing him away. Loki didn’t see where the Elf landed. Thor offered his hand to help him up and Loki responded unthinkingly, as though they had just been training back home and Thor had bested him once again. 

Loki gripped the offered hand tight, but before he could pull himself up, Thor yelled in pain, withdrawing his hand. He turned it over to stare at his blackened palm. Glancing up, he could not see Loki’s horrified gaze under the helmet. Loki had not meant to frostbite him, but now it was done, and now was his chance. 

He surged up and grabbed at the silver chain, pulling it almost free before Thor stopped him by grabbing his arm. His strength was at full force, and Loki had no chance to rip himself free, but Thor’s hand was now damaged, and it was painful to grip Loki thus. 

The cold swept out of Loki, making even his armour cold as ice. Thor cried out as actual ice began to grow over his hand. He wrenched himself free, breaking the ice and sending Loki back to the ground in the mud again. But he had broken the chain, and the Ring and been sent flying. 

It landed on a small rock right beside Loki, as if it had avoided the mud purposefully. Before Thor could lunge for it, Loki stuck his hand in the mud and froze the ground around him, making the ice surge up and swallow Thor up to his hips. Thor looked down in shock, lifting Mjølnir to hammer himself free, but he had to hit several opportunistic Orcs instead. 

While he struggled against ice and enemies, Loki snatched up the Ring and stood, holding it up before his eyes. 

The world darkened. Time itself seemed to slow. The Ring became rimmed with ice by Loki’s touch, but it did not mind. 

Inside Loki’s helmet, Sauron was ecstatic. _’Bring it to me, now!’_

The seductive power was delicious. Loki’s whole body sang with it. 

‘Loki, don’t!’ Thor was yelling. 

All Loki had to do was put on the Ring, and all his problems would be nothing. Sauron heard his traitorous thoughts. _’You dare defy me? You are not worthy of the Ring. It is mine. I created it.’_

Loki reached up and lifted the helmet off, ignoring Sauron’s screams of rage. It dropped gracelessly to the mud. Loki was free to gaze at the Ring with his own eyes. He saw its perfection. 

At the same time, the sky became filled with the horrifying screeches of the flying beasts of the Nazgûl. Even the Orc army cowered at their arrival, causing the push forward to slow. The Nazgûl were heading straight for the Ring. 

Loki glanced up at them. Thor was free of his ice, but he felt the fearful presence of the Nazgûl, and hated himself for the doubt that pierced his heart. 

‘Thor,’ Loki said. ‘Take it, go.’ Loki tossed the Ring to him, and Thor tried to catch it, but the Ring did not wish to return to him, so it slipped easily from his grasp, falling into the mud, disappearing from view. Thor stared horrified, hope failing him. He almost fell to his knees to search for it, but the Ring would not be found so easily. Loki’s face held similar emotions of despair. 

Without thought, Thor raised Mjølnir. He sent her a prayer, fail me not, and brought her down with all his might. 

Loki saw it all. He would have screamed no if there had been time. As Mjølnir descended towards the muddy ground, small sparks of lightning flew from Mjølnir to the exact spot she was going to hit. She had found the Ring, and guided Thor’s hand. 

When they connected, Loki knew no more. His body was thrown far, as were all combatants near Thor. A wave of power knocked every creature, Elf and man from his feet, even to the Morannon and beyond. The flying Nazgûl were thrown far backwards in the sky. 

The world stilled for a few moments. Thor was in a crater. He was unsure what had happened, but he was standing and did not appear to be more hurt than before. He removed his hand from Mjølnir, wincing at the sight of the blackened flesh. Ignoring the pain, he took the handle again and pulled her from the ground. 

She rang with power as before, but her song had changed. Thor could not say how exactly, but she was heavier, though not unbearably so. At first glance she looked the same, and he frowned, turning her over. 

The Ring was there, Thor saw with surprise. It was not broken, but imbedded in Mjølnir. Impossible, and yet there it was. Mjølnir seemed to incase it, hugging it close. Thor squinted at the Ring. Was there a crack in it? It was hard to tell. 

Whatever had happened, Thor felt Mjølnir could contain the Ring. Its evil presence was no more, but its power was melding with Mjølnir’s. What this would result in, Thor had no wisdom to guess. He finally lifted his gaze to his surroundings, searching for Loki. 

As he climbed out of the crater, the rest of the horde and armies started awakening. The Nazgûls screamed in confusion, the fell beasts they flew were no longer in their command. They were thrown from them, becoming nothing but wisps of wind when they hit the ground. The beasts themselves flew off to wherever they had once called home. The Orcs sensed something was wrong, and were quaking with fear. Then one started running, and it set off a stampede. Most ran to the east, and very few back into Mordor except for trolls and creatures of the mountains. 

Far to the south, Thor saw Barad-dûr start to shake. He could hear it rumble. It broke apart, the tallest tower splitting in half, and then it collapsed completely into dust. 

The allies were crying in victory, Thor realised. The men were punching the air, hugging their comrades, and kicking the last slow-moving Orcs. The Elves were giving thanks to the Valar for their deliverance. 

Thor cast his eyes around for Loki, and found him on the ground in the mud, his blue skin unmistakable. He ran to him and turned him over, careful to only touch his armour. 

He had placed Mjølnir down next to Loki, so when the red eyes opened, he was staring straight at it. Thor had never seen Loki in this form, though he had been told about it. Still, seeing the red Jotun eye colour was disconcerting. Loki blinked several times, turning his head to look up at Thor. 

‘What happened?’ 

Thor sighed in relief, for at least Loki sounded like himself, except for the confusion. 

‘It’s over.’ 

‘What? How?’ Loki tried to sit up to look around. Thor helped him with a hand to his back, but Loki flinched away. ‘Don’t touch me.’ Thor retreated and reminded himself Loki only meant to not hurt him. That was a promising sign. 

As Loki rose to his feet, Thor had to stop himself from steadying him. Loki gazed around in wonder, then his eyes became fixed on a point, shining with some strange emotion. Thor followed his line of sight, and saw Frigga maker her way over the bodies. She was unhurt, and Thor’s heart swelled. They were all unhurt, at least in body. 

When she reached them, tears were falling from her eyes as she fell into Loki’s arms. He caught her, though he kept his hands away from her skin. She looked up at his face, but when she tried to touch it Loki shook his head. 

‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure if I’ll frostbite you.’ 

‘My son,’ she said. She reached for Thor. ‘My sons.’ Thor stepped up and put his arm carefully around them both. Loki looked a little stunned at being in the middle of such an embrace. His body was shaking, Thor felt it. He must be going into shock. 

‘Thranduil.’ Loki’s whispered, and the other two looked behind them to see the Elven King. His shining armour was drenched in Orc blood, and even his hair was stained. Apart from a cut to his cheek, he was unharmed as well. Sheathing his sword, he waited for Thor and Frigga to let Loki go. Loki hesitantly came forward. Thor could only watch astounded as Thranduil gently pulled Loki into an embrace. 

Loki’s eyes were wide, staring into space over Thranduil’s shoulder. When they parted Thranduil leaned forward for what was unmistakably a kiss. Loki flinched back, however. 

‘Frostbite,’ he muttered. ‘It- during the battle-’ Thranduil tilted Loki’s head up, though he still wore his gloves. 

‘I would rather have a blackened face than not kiss you.’ He did, quite firmly, and it did not look anything but pleasurable. Thor looked to Frigga, and received only a teary smile in return. She took his hand. As usual, Thor was the last to see what should have been obvious. The pair looked odd, pale skin against blue, but there was nothing save love in the kiss. 

The three allied armies were finally done cheering, and had begun to count the dead. 

Thranduil and Loki kissed for a long time. While they did, Frigga glanced at Mjølnir standing on the ground by Thor’s feet. He picked her up and showed the Ring. 

Frigga frowned, placing her hand over the Ring and closing her eyes. 

‘I feel no evil,’ she said eventually, surprised. 

‘It has made her heavier,’ Thor said. He looked towards Barad-dûr. ‘Do you think he is dead?’ 

‘He is,’ Thranduil answered, finally breaking away from Loki, though they remained close. Loki’s head bowed slightly, as if embarrassed to look at his family’s reaction. ‘His life force was bound to the Ring. If its presence can no longer be felt, he is gone.’ 

Loki stepped away from Thranduil abruptly and with purpose. He went past Thor and Frigga to where his helmet had landed. He held it away from him, staring at it fearfully, before slowly putting it on. Thor wanted to stop him, but Frigga gripped his hand in warning. 

After only a few second Loki removed the helmet and threw it away. ‘He is gone.’ 

‘Queen Frigga, King Thranduil, and Prince Thor, I salute you,’ King Thengel greeted them from horseback, drawing everyone’s attention. From his vantage point Loki was behind the other three, so when he spotted a blue creature he drew his sword in alarm. 

‘Peace, King Thengel,’ Thranduil said at once, grabbing the reins of the horse as she reacted to her master’s distress. ‘He is not an Orc, just a different shade than his mother and brother.’ 

‘Queen Frigga?’ 

‘Allow me to present my second son, Prince Loki.’ She took his hand - and he did not resist nor frostbite her - and urged him between her and Thor. Thengel looked bewildered, but he bowed his head in greeting. 

‘Loki has helped save us all,’ Thor said. ‘Sauron is dead.’ 

‘Then he has the gratitude of me and my people, and all of Middle-Earth. Are any of you wounded?’ Frigga told him they were all fine and Thengel welcomed them to his tent tonight for the victory drink, to both thank the gods for their lives and honour the dead. He rode away at last. 

‘I must see to my people,’ Thranduil said. ‘I will send some men with horses to help you back to camp.’ Frigga thanked him, but he had eyes only for Loki. ‘You should rest, Loki.’ He left them and was quickly found by one of his riders, who gave him his horse. 

‘No,’ Loki said to himself, suddenly agitated. He turned towards Mordor. ‘We must go to Barad-dûr.’ 

‘I will never set foot in Mordor again,’ Thor swore. ‘Why should you wish to go there?’ 

‘We must, there may be survivors.’ The tower was reduced to gravel. It was unlikely any inside had survived. ‘Men of Harad and Gondor.’ 

‘Then we will tell the Captains of Gondor,’ Frigga said, gently turning Loki’s face to hers. ‘They will look for their people.’ 

‘But it will take them too long to get there,’ Loki argued. 

‘Fine, I will fly and search over the rubble,’ Thor sighed. ‘Will that satisfy you?’ 

‘Yes, go, Thor,’ Frigga said. ‘I will take Loki to rest.’ She tried to lead him away, but he resisted. 

‘No, I must go. I left so many-’ He closed his eyes in pain. 

Thor flew before Loki had a chance to argue more, and so Frigga finally persuaded Loki to come with her. Whatever evil Sauron had visited upon her son, it weighed on Loki more than a physical wound. He seemed in a daze, as though he was a masterless wraith. Elven warriors came to their aid, and none said anything about Loki’s colour. They rode back to the Elven part of the camp, and were shown to Thranduil’s tent, where Frigga put Loki to sleep with a simple spell. She had not been able to use it on Loki since he was a child. 

Her own tent would have been just as comfortable, but she did not like the looks the men of Rohan gave her as they rode. The Elves seemed much more comfortable with Loki’s colour, more curious than fearful. They trusted their King and that he would not invite evil into his camp. 

She waited by Loki’s side until dusk, when Thranduil returned and said they must make an appearance in King Thengel’s camp. The spell would hopefully last all night, so Frigga left to wash herself and remove her armour in her own tent. 

Thranduil’s squire removed his armour, not once glancing at the strange man lying in the King’s bed. Thranduil ordered him away so he could wash alone. He wetted the tips of his hair in the water to get out the stink of Orc blood. It would not be gone from him completely until he was bathed fully. Elven noses were sometimes too keen for their own good. 

The cut on his cheek needed little tending except a wash. Always he kept an eye on Loki, glancing at him sideways or behind himself in the mirror. Loki slept on, and he remained blue. This was strange. Thranduil had often seen him turn blue in his sleep when he dreamt of the cold, but Frigga has said the sleep was dreamless. 

He put on his light-blue robes with embroidered silver patterns. On his head he placed the autumn diadem. For tonight he was not the Warrior-King, though he suspected they would face Orc packs again before they returned home. 

He would have to leave Loki now, and it was almost unbearable. His army expected a victory celebration, however, and words said over their dead. Just to be certain he could, Thranduil lay his hand on Loki’s cheek. The skin was cool, but not icy. Hopefully, that was a good sign.


	16. Chapter 16

Loki’s mind started dreaming before he awoke. He was in the tower, and it was collapsing under him, but if he concentrated he could stay afloat, hovering like Thor as he watched the rubble fall. Sauron grabbed his ankle out of nowhere, pulling him down with him, his face contorted in rage. Loki reached up like a drowning man reaching for the surface, but it was no use. He plunged into the depths of Barad-dûr, into complete darkness as they were swallowed by the rubble. But he did not die, nor was he crushed. He was simply there, in the heart of the tower. 

Feeling his way in the dark, Loki felt something soft and wet. His touch made it harden into ice. Blue light started pulsing, his own ice shining. It revealed what Loki had been touching. A dead man’s face, cut up to a barely recognizable shape, and now frozen in the man’s last moment of agony. Loki tried to withdraw his hand, but it was stuck. Panicked, he started struggling while the light from his ice grew in intensity, revealing the whole chamber he was trapped inside. 

It was filled with the dead, his dead. Their faced pressed close from all sides. Loki felt himself gag. The ice from his hand spread like wildfire to them all, and they all became glowing masks. Loki screamed, pulling with all his strength. 

He broke free and rolled away, straight off the bed. He pushed himself up to guard against the faces, pressing himself against the bed, knees coming up to his chest, hands out in front. But the tent was empty. A few lanterns, one on a large table, a few hung from the tent poles, lit a beautiful Elven tent. It was from Mirkwood, Loki realised by the patterns and woven images in the tent cloth. 

As his eyes passed over the furniture, he looked to the tent opening and froze. There was an Elf there, peeking in to check on the noise. 

‘Are you hurt?’ the Elf ask. ‘Do you need help?’ 

‘Where is King Thranduil?’ Loki hoped his guess had been correct. 

‘He is with the Rohirrim. King Thengel is giving a victory toast.’ Victory? The events of the battle returned to him, and he remembered how all his plans had come to nought. But, there had still been victory, hadn’t there? Somehow, Thor had done something.

‘What happened?’ 

The Elf came into the tent. He was still wearing his armour, but it was clean and shining. Only his green cloak was still dirty. Wait, no, it was a female, and her hair was red, not blonde. Tauriel. She smiled kindly at him as she approached. 

‘We know little except that something you and Prince Thor did made Barad-dûr fall.’ She offered a hand and Loki allowed himself to be helped up and lowered back into bed. ‘Queen Frigga’s spell should have let you sleep until morning. You should rest even without it.’ Loki doubted he could sleep after a nightmare like that. 

‘Thank you.’ 

‘Thank you, Prince Loki. I’ll be just outside if you have need of anything.’ Loki closed his eyes and listened to Tauriel leave. 

Once alone, he got up quietly, going over to the table. There were papers littered everywhere. Maps of the Morannon and the lands to the north. Calculations about their numbers, and schematics over their positions. Loki pieced together their battle plans, and matched them up with his memory of the day. Even with strategy, they would not have been victorious if not for Thor’s actions. It was clear Thor had been meant to attempt to fly to Mount Doom, just as Loki had suspected long before the armies even arrived at the Morannon. 

The battle preparations had all been left to Loki, as a final test. Sauron had considered the “New Alliance of Elves and Men” to be a fly he needed only swat away. 

All of Loki’s plans had fallen away once he had entered the battle himself. He had been unable to disobey a direct order from his Master. As a fitting end, his own weakness had led to the desired outcome after all. Thor had been victorious without needing to reach the mountain. 

He sat down in the King’s chair and read everything written in the common tongue. Although he knew far more Elvish than what Alatar had originally taught him, he still did not know enough to decipher messages. 

‘Loki.’ 

Caught unawares, Loki dropped the letters in his hands guiltily. Thranduil was striding into the room. Loki jumped up from the King’s chair just as Thranduil rounded the table. His eyes were glowing as he reached out and embraced Loki tightly. 

‘Queen Frigga said you would sleep until morning. I’m sorry I was not here.’ 

‘Not your fault,’ Loki managed to mutter. Thranduil held his face and kissed him. It was much the same as the one on the battlefield. Firm and safe, yet full of promise, both new and reaffirmed. Loki was too weak of spirit to resist enjoying it. It felt like a man’s age since he had felt such a simple pleasure. 

Thranduil stopped only reluctantly, pressing his cheek to Loki’s and placing a few stray kisses along his jaw and under his ear. Loki kept his eyes closed, almost shaking with relief at being in a safe embrace. 

‘Tell me how you are,’ Thranduil said softly. ‘You need not recount what horrors Sauron visited upon you, but only tell me how well you have weathered them.’ 

‘I do not know,’ Loki whispered back. He put his head down on Thranduil’s shoulder. ‘All I know is that I failed.’ 

‘Failed? But Sauron is dead.’ Thranduil pulled back to look Loki in the eyes. 

‘By Thor’s hand. I had no part in it.’ 

‘But Thor has told me how you gave the Ring back.’ Loki frowned, searching his memories. He remembered holding the Ring, being overwhelmed by a new idea, a new solution. Had he truly resisted it? _’Take it, go.’_ The words came back to him, but they did not sound like his own. 

‘I threw it to him,’ Loki remembered. ‘But it fell into the mud.’ 

‘That was not your doing. It wanted to hide, but Mjølnir, as I understand, found it. It is kept safe in her now.’ 

‘That doesn’t matter,’ Loki shook his head. He was distracted by Thranduil’s closeness. He tried to look straight into his eyes to make him understand. ‘I was Lord Mordu, The Mouth of Sauron, completely, do you see? For a moment all I wanted-’ 

‘But you didn’t,’ Thranduil cut him off, cupping his cheek. Loki was mesmerized by the Elf’s glowing eyes, like starlight. Was he using magic? ‘One moment of weakness after such torture-’ 

‘No.’ Loki wrenched himself free, turning away. ‘No torture.’ He closed his eyes, the faces of his dead vivid in his mind. ‘I received no torture.’ 

‘Perhaps not of the body,’ Thranduil said. He very gently placed his hands on Loki’s shoulders. ‘There are far more insidious forms that might mould a person into any shape.’ 

‘I had plans,’ Loki said, fearful this fact would be lost forever if he did not speak it once. ‘For Thor’s ascent to the mountain. But then Sauron gave me that helmet.’ Loki shuddered at the thought of it burrowing into his mind, forcing him to hide all thoughts of betrayal so deep he had forgotten them himself. ‘He was _in_ my mind.’

‘Loki, please come rest. Lie down with me.’ Thranduil urged him back to the bed. Loki went limply. Thranduil removed his diadem before he lay down next to Loki. ‘Sleep now.’ 

‘I cannot,’ Loki said. When he closed his eyes, tears escaped. ‘My dead haunt me.’ 

‘Your dead?’ Thranduil frowned, stroking Loki’s face. Loki was falling asleep despite his protestations. He should never have awoken. Thranduil lay beside him until the morning, when Frigga visited again. He told her everything that had been said the night before. 

‘Then he was never broken,’ Frigga concluded. ‘Not truly.’ 

‘I’m not sure,’ Thranduil said, glancing at Loki’s sleeping form. ‘He has not turned pale once.’ 

‘You think it a sign?’ 

‘I do not know, but I fear Loki’s reaction if it is permanent.’ 

‘Maybe, if we could get home, Odin might-’ Frigga frowned, shaking her head. ‘I don’t know what’s best for him.’ She sounded more hopeless than Thranduil had ever heard her. 

‘Concerning your journey home, I have news.’ Thranduil looked through his letters, somewhat disorganised, and found the correct letter. ‘Lord Elrond’s messenger found me just before we crossed Mirkwood’s southern borders. I did not speak of it before for fear it would distract. He writes that Lord Círdan the Shipwright may have a way for you to go home.’ 

‘By what method?’ Frigga glanced at the letter, but it was in fine Elven script. 

‘Lord Círdan is the last and greatest shipwright of the Eldan, and his ships carry our kin to Valinor, the uttermost West. It was once a simple journey across the sea, but since the sundering of Valinor from Middle-Earth, it is a journey to another world.’ 

‘He has built a ship that can take us home?’ 

‘I do not know, Lord Elrond merely urges you to Mithlond, the Grey Havens, where Lord Círdan resides. I shall guide you there. The road south through North Ithilien will take some time, but once on the Green Way, it is an easy journey.’ 

‘Thank you, King Thranduil, for everything.’ 

‘It has been an honour.’ His eyes glanced unconsciously to Loki’s sleeping form. Frigga saw the pain he would endure when Loki left. 

‘Might we impose upon your hospitality until then? Loki seems to sleep very peacefully here.’ 

‘He may stay as long as he wishes.’ Frigga thanked him again, and sat by her son a while to make sure he slept soundly. Thranduil left to speak with his Captains of the arrangements. The bulk of his forces would go back north. He would take a personal guard with him to Mithlond. Legolas needed to be informed. 

XXX

Loki awoke to find himself in the warm embrace of Thranduil. Morning light hit the tent, and Thranduil was stirring. How long had he slept? He felt much refreshed, which was a foreign sensation to him now. 

‘You are awake at last,’ Thranduil murmured, kissing his neck. His arms were around Loki, their skin only covered by silken tunics. 

‘How long have I slept?’ 

‘Two nights through. One of the supply wagons was converted to transport you.’ 

Loki blinked at that. He had slept through being moved? He glanced at the tent and saw that it was not the same. It was more spartan, for one. 

‘Where are we?’ 

‘In North Ithilien. I will explain later. The army is moving very slowly as we have many wounded. No need for us to get up just yet.’ Thranduil moved his hand upwards from Loki’s hip to his chest, pulling at the tunic’s strings. Loki enjoyed the feel of Thranduil’s body against his own, but he could not allow this to happen. He put his hand on Thranduil’s to stop him. 

‘Don’t.’ 

‘Of course, but might I ask why?’ 

‘I should wash first. I’m sure I stink.’ Thranduil agreed to that, and ordered water for Loki, leaving him alone in the tent to make himself presentable. Loki’s black armour was gone, but Thranduil had arranged travelling clothes fit for any Prince. Leather breeches with matching knee-high boots, a wood-green tunic with golden thread, and a thicker sleeveless one over that with embroidered leaves and knot-patterns. His belt had Aeglos attached already. Last was a green cloak and gloves. Winter was late, but Loki could taste it on the air. In Mordor there had been no seasons. He did not need the warm clothes in his Jotun form, but he wore them regardless. 

He tried to comb his hair back, and found a tie to bind it. He almost undid it when he glanced at a little hand-held mirror. His blue face became so prominent. 

Ignoring it, for there was nothing to be done about it, he left the tent. Tauriel stood watch outside and he nodded to her. She smiled back and did not appear disturbed by him. She was as always open and curious. 

Around the tent the camp was vast. Rohan and Gondor had yet to part ways, and they seemed to have mixed themselves completely. The Captains of Gondor were in angry discussions over what to do when they returned to Gondor. Loki could hear them, and felt responsible. Had he not goaded Denethor, much might have been prevented. 

‘Loki.’ Frigga hurried to him, a little quicker than a Queen should, and hugged him. He revelled in her scent. She smiled at his face, but Loki could detect the worry. ‘How are you feeling?’ 

‘Better.’ He glanced around the the men and Elves milling about the camp. None of them were looking at him with great suspicion, though some were openly staring. 

‘Don’t mind them,’ Frigga said. ‘Thor has been regaling them with stories about your cunning.’ 

‘My what?’ Loki looked at her in alarm. 

‘Let him have his fun. We are both proud of you.’ 

‘Proud?’ Loki would have laughed if not for the look in Frigga’s eyes. She had no idea. ‘Mother, I was-’ 

‘No, no excuses. King Thranduil told me what you said. Your heart is still your own, and it is good.’ She placed her hand on his chest. ‘You did your best, more than any man could.’ He must have looked the fool for he had no strength to school his features. She touched his cheek. Why did she and Thranduil continue to do that? He tried not to flinch. ‘I can not imagine what you have been through, but I know I still see my son when I look into your eyes.’ 

Hope sprang to life in him like an exploding star, but her words could only have so much weight without the facts. She could not know, or perhaps she did not wish to know, how much dark magic he had used. His dead lingered in the corners of his mind, accusing him with glowing eyes blue as ice. 

‘Come, Thor will want to see you.’ 

Loki was led through the camp, ignoring the stares. Thor was enthusiastic as he always was in victory, and he clapped Loki on the back just like he always did. He told his fans that Loki was his brother, and that together they had defeated Sauron. 

It was surreal listening to Thor tell the story. Loki had “infiltrated” the enemy, deceiving the Deceiver himself. It was Mjølnir the men wanted to see, however, and Thor placed it on the table so all could pass by and look at the Ring. 

When they finally had a moment to actually talk, Loki caught a glimpse of Thor’s hand. It was bandaged. Thor saw him staring and lifted his hand. 

‘It doesn’t hurt anymore,’ he said. ‘Mother placed a spell on it. The dead tissue is hardly skin deep.’ When Loki continued to look guilty, Thor put his other hand on his shoulder. ‘I do not blame you. It was in the heat of battle. I saw it in your eyes. You did not mean to.’ 

‘You could not see my eyes...’ 

‘No, but I could sense your expression.’ He waved his hand as though to prove it was fine. ‘I can still wield Mjølnir, even with her increased weight. No harm done.’ 

No harm done. Loki wished all his sins could be atoned for thusly. Thor seemed perfectly fine, and bore Loki no ill will for the frostbite. Loki had not meant to do it, he knew that at least. Had he meant to use his new skills on Thor, the ice from their touch would have travelled along his arm like Mjølnir’s lightning to his heart. In that, at least, Loki was innocent. 

Thranduil found them soon after that, and together they had breakfast while the camp started packing. The armies were indeed very slow-moving. There weren’t enough carts for all the wounded, so many were carried on makeshift stretchers. The women of Rohan tended them very well, and Frigga often helped the worst cases. Loki rode with Thranduil. Not much was said during their slow journey southwest. 

Frigga had told him of their destination and the possibility of a return home. The idea was so far fetched, and the journey so long, Loki decided not to think about it much. 

During his ride Loki tried everything to keep his dead away. He asked about the number of dead and wounded, about the area they were travelling to, and about the others’ time since last they had seen each other. Thor kept him distracted by his tale for a good while, but Frigga’s was the more fascinating. She described Saruman’s death in a no-nonsense manner, but Thor took over the telling and almost made Frigga blush. It was such a typical victory scene, apart from the addition of Thranduil, but that was an extra comfort. In sum it actually threatened to make Loki smile. 

That evening, Loki realised they all expected him to sleep in Thranduil’s tent. That was surprising. Even Thor said goodnight without awkwardness. Loki followed Thranduil. The lanterns had been lit. Loki took off his cloak, belt and outer tunic. He realised Thranduil was behind him, about to embrace him, but he turned before he could. 

‘Don’t.’ 

‘Perhaps this time you can tell me the truth?’ 

Shaking his head, Loki still did not resist when Thranduil took him in his arms. They stood there for a long moment. 

‘They all think I’ve accomplished some great deed.’ 

‘Tell me then, whatever is eating at you. If you think I will judge you for it, better to say it now than ride next to me in silence all the way to the Grey Havens.’ Impossible to argue with that. Loki closed his eyes and let his mind open, despite his dread. He needed only slip Thranduil the faintest of images of his deeds. He knew exactly when Thranduil had seen them in his own mind. His body went stiff. Loki pulled back, feeling guilty at the sight of Thranduil’s pale face. 

‘I’m sorry.’ Loki wasn’t certain if he was speaking to Thranduil or his dead. 

‘I know you are, and it is important you remember that.’ 

‘You should not touch me,’ Loki explained. ‘The dark magic consumed me, don’t you see? My Jotun form-’ 

‘I sense no great darkness in you.’ Thranduil touched his cheek. Loki, instead of flinching away like he should, leaned into it unconsciously. ‘I think you were more resistant than you claim. His darkness is gone from the world, and you.’ How wonderful if that could be believed, Loki thought. He desperately wished it so, but his dead told another story. 

Thranduil embraced him tightly. ‘Damn him.’ Loki’s heart was in his throat. He dared not even think. 

Suddenly, Thranduil kissed him, hard. ‘No, I won’t let him have you.’ Another kiss, while he undid Loki’s tunic. Overwhelmed with sensation, Loki was powerless to stop him. After yet more kisses, Thranduil spoke harshly against the skin of his neck. ‘He is _dead_. Whatever you did in his service dies with him. Understand?’ Loki had no opportunity to answer, and he started kissing back. Pleasure pushed everything from his mind. 

Thranduil pulled his tunic off, then they both made swift work of Thranduil’s many buttons. Chest to chest, they kissed their way like fumbling young men to the bed. Loki fell first. Thranduil slid down to pull at his boots and breeches. Loki was hard, but he had to close his eyes at his first glance down - all blue. He had been with Thranduil like this many times, but it was like a new wound now. 

‘Please, Loki, open your eyes. There is no reason to fear yourself.’ Loki did not believe him, but obeyed when he felt Thranduil’s mouth on him. That sight was worth all the colours in the world. Loki gasped, desperate for more. He had not felt any sexual pleasure during his “stay” in Mordor. 

Thranduil kept his hips in check, however. When Loki made a desperate noise at the back of his throat, Thranduil slipped out of his own trousers and lay on top of him. Every point of naked contact was glorious. Loki touched every inch of skin he could reach, and Thranduil did the same. They mapped each other out while they thrusts against each other. At this rate, they would both be spent before either could penetrate. 

‘Inside, yes?’ Thranduil whispered. ‘May I?’ Loki nodded. Thranduil lifted his legs slightly and Loki wrapped them around his hips and urged him forward, arching his back as Thranduil pierced him. His mouth fell open as he let his upper body go limp. Thranduil began thrusting, and Loki focused all his mind on the sensation. He wasn’t even aware of mumbling expletives. Thranduil bent down and kissed him. Loki touched his chest, digging his nails in as his mind clouded with pleasure. Thranduil groaned low. He kept thrusting steadily, just shy of fast enough, so as to prolong the act. When Loki began to feel that tickling desperation in the pit of his stomach, he gasped ‘please’ and Thranduil thrust a bit harder. This only satisfied him for a few seconds, however. At the next ‘please’ Thranduil gave him more until he abandoned all skill, and their passions climaxed. 

When next Loki became aware, he was curled into Thranduil, a thick blanket covering them. 

‘I never thought I’d feel this again,’ Loki confessed. In his darkest hours, he had not believed he would see the sun again. 

‘I had my doubts, but my hope burned fiercely.’ Thranduil kissed his shoulder, lying back with a sigh of contentment. After a long moment of silent, he spoke softly. ‘I know you will carry what happened to you forever, but know that I will love you equally long.’ 

There was nothing Loki could say to that, and not only because his throat closed up. They fell asleep, and Loki did not dream. 

XXX 

The next day the dead did not bother Loki as much. He found he could go several minutes without them being on his mind at all. He did not know how much guilt he should bear. He did not know how much of himself he had put into those deeds. He knew he had not been himself - or he hoped very strongly. But he could not know what was fair, and so if he had decided to live, he would have to live with the dead. 

The next night, after Thranduil had made love to him again, he told him his thoughts. Thranduil said it was the only course of action, for he would not allow Loki to leave this world while Thranduil still breathed in it. Loki had smiled at that, though his thoughts flew ahead to the Grey Havens at the thought. 

As to his Jotun form, he wished it gone more than anything, but he had explained why it remained to the others. Frigga said Odin might be able to return his pale form, but made it clear she did not care one way or the other. Loki knew if he was to live on Asgard, even in prison, it would be better if he was pale. He had not forgotten Odin probably meant to judge him for his crimes. 

Thranduil had never cared. As for Thor, Loki could not tell if he was sincere, but he was very adamant he liked the shade. 

The armies soon reached Gondor’s garrison at Cair Andros, where incredible news was heard. Lord Denethor had been driven mad by the Seeing Stone it was said. He stared into it day and night, refusing even to drink. He had cursed his soldiers for abandoning him, and begun ordering the execution of their families. Fortunately, his personal guard had already decided on his madness, and had not done so. Denethor eventually fell into a daze from lack of sleep and water. The healers could not wake him, and he succumed a few days later. 

His wife, Findulias, daughter of the Prince of Dol Amroth, a frail and delicate thing, had taken the Stewardship. She had pardoned all soldiers of Gondor, and sent new troops from her father’s lands north to help. Although they would arrive far too late, news of their march brought great joy to all. 

The Rohirrim began parting from them just beyond the river. King Thengel promised them a hero’s welcome if they should ever wish to return to Edoras. The bulk of his army went with him, but many were going straight home, so they would follow them on the Green Way and depart as needed. A little further south, the Captains of Gondor began the march home, while Thranduil’s party took the Green Way east and north along the Ered Nimrais. Apart from Dunlending who might trouble them beyond Isengard, their journey would be a quiet one. Before they reached Isengard, Haldir bid farewell to Frigga. She gave him the Palantir to keep safe in Lothlorién. 

Every night Thranduil and Loki retired to their tent. No need for secrecy this time. They still kept quiet, which was hard, and Loki had almost blushed once when Frigga had been sitting just outside by the fire when he came out one morning. 

It was about twenty miles north of Isengard on the Green Way when their party was at last disturbed. Since they knew there might be bandits around, all slept in their clothes. In the middle of the night, Thranduil shook Loki awake. 

‘Attack. Dunlendings no doubt.’ He jumped from the bed, and Loki heard the Elven horns. As he got up and took Aeglos from Thranduil, they heard the first clashes of metal. Idiot Dunlendings, he thought, to try and rob a party of Elves. But it had been a long time since such an Elven party had travelled the Green Way. 

They hurried from their tent, and found the camp in complete disarray. Loki searched out Frigga and Thor, but before he could find them, a wild man charged from his left. Loki ducked his rather pathetic swipe with his huge axe and sliced off his hand cleanly. The man cried out in agony, but he was such a bear of a man he gripped his wound and retreated into the night. 

There was no time to think. Another Dunlending, this one considerably younger, sprang from the dark into the camp with a battlecry tinged with despair. Loki parried the sword blow. It was too heavy for the lad. Loki used Aeglos and made a quick circle, dislodging the lad’s grip and sending his sword flying. Aeglos ended up pointing directly at his face. 

‘Go.’ 

The lad needed no telling twice. He stumbled in his fear before he escaped the camp. The Dunlendings were still coming, but the Elven warriors were making even the more crazed men doubt themselves. Loki walked behind the tent to look more clearly into the night without the glare from the fire. He could hear running, mostly away from them now. 

‘Loki?’ 

At Thranduil’s call he turned away from the forest to answer. A man leapt from his hiding place high in a tree. Loki heard him, but even if he had time to turn to meet his attacker, he had no time to prepare to catch a beastly man twice his size. The man crushed him to the ground, knocking the air out of him, though the weight was not strong enough to break any bones. 

Aeglos slipped from his grip as he braced himself. 

The man’s brown grin reeked. Sitting on Loki, he brought a dagger down, but Loki grabbed his arms, the dagger’s tip a finger’s breadth from his chest. The man must have been surprised to find such strength. 

‘What are you?’ he growled. ‘A pretty Orc?’ 

The insult ignited Loki’s cold storm within. One second later, and the man was screaming in pain as his arms were swallowed by ice, compressing them enough to break every bone in his arms. Loki pushed him off and he rolled onto his back, screaming still, his arms fixed in their position with the dagger still in place. 

‘Loki!’ Thranduil hurried to his side, only to stop short at the Dunlending’s condition. Loki stood shakily, words of explanation dying in his throat. Thranduil watched as the man writhed in agony. ‘Loki, can you remove the ice?’ That spurred Loki into action, and he quickly touched the ice again, melting it away in seconds. The man still screamed for his broken arms. Thranduil pulled him to his feet. ‘Go home. They are only broken.’ He pushed him towards the forest, and the man hurried away. Loki could hear sobs of pain. 

Thranduil moved towards Loki. ‘I’m sorry,’ Loki said. Thranduil frowned, continuing his approach until he could lean in and kiss Loki on the cheek. The move was so unexpectedly soft, Loki blinked in confusion. 

‘Sorry for what? For never showing me what you could do?’ 

‘I should never have used my powers.’ 

‘Your Jotunness is not evil,’ Thranduil sighed, as though they had had this argument a hundred times. ‘You barely hurt the man,’ he said reasonably. ‘Come, back to bed. We might have a few hours before sunrise.’ Loki was ushered unceremoniously back. The kiss to his cheek lingered. He had expected slightly more horror and condemnation at such an unnatural act. His dead knew the true extent of his abilities, but as he lay with Thranduil as curled up next to him as ever, the idea that his Jotunness was only evil when his actions were evil sprang to life deep in his subconscious. 

XXX

Winter arrived by the time they reached the end of the Green Way. They passed through a peaceful land called The Shire, where Gandalf met them. He was not alone. Legolas had come so see the strangers off, having left Mirkwood the moment the messengers had returned with word of victory and his father’s plans. Thranduil was much restored with new clothes and supplies, and his warriors by the sight of several friends. 

Their party had become quite large by the time they made their way towards the Gulf of Lune. The landscape was hilly, with a layer of snow that made everything quiet. The Grey Havens were tucked into the bay where the river Lune emptied into it. Its buildings and tall spires were white. The harbour was large, but only a few boats were moored. It was very peaceful. 

The largest boat was white, with a bow carved into a swan. The sails were white as well, and although it was a sturdy construction, it did look like it could take to the sky. 

They were greeted by Lord Círdan, who expressed his joy at seeing them again. He invited Frigga, Thor and Loki to his chambers to discuss his new ship. It was imbued with unprecedented amounts of Elven magic. He hoped that it might ferry them home. 

He could not have known about the change in Mjølnir’s magic when he began the construction, but the two events proved fortuitous. Both Thor and Frigga were hopeful that Mjølnir could guide them home. All they needed to do was rise to the heavens. 

Loki said very little during the meeting. It was decided they would leave the next day already. Frigga and Thor were very grateful and excited to be going home. They were given rooms in one of the largest towers. Out Loki’s window the sea lay endless, the sun setting on the horizon, making everything glow orange. The walls in his room were covered in tapestries, and one of them in particular caught Loki’s attention. A blue sky, with a white ship sailing among the clouds. An Elf stood at its bow, a light shining on his forehead. Loki wondered what story was behind the image. 

A knock. Loki hurried to the door. His hopes were answered when he found Thranduil there. The King entered, half dragged by Loki, who kissed him before he could get a word in. He responded at once, and Loki tugged at his clothes, backing towards the bed. 

Loki’s only movement with some patience was when he took the diadem from Thranduil’s head and placed it on the beside table. After that he pulled Thranduil’s clothes for him, pushing him back on the bed naked. Loki stared at him as he tore off his own clothes. Thranduil reached for him hungrily, and Loki lay on top of him, their kisses bruising. 

He slid his hand down Thranduil’s side, under to squeeze his buttocks, then up to lift his thigh so Loki could shift downwards into position. He kissed and licked Thranduil’s chest, neck and mouth as he pushed inside him. Thranduil sighed with contentment. Loki kissed every inch he could reach. 

‘Deep,’ Thranduil instructed, tilting his chin up so Loki could suck on his neck. Loki obliged. Thranduil was exquisitely warm. The room was still rather cold, as the fire had yet to warm the cold stones. Loki enjoyed the contrast. He studied Thranduil’s pale skin, barely aware of his own pleasure as he thrust slowly and deliberately. He held himself up with one hand so he could get a better view, then took hold of Thranduil’s member, drawing a gasp from the Elf. Loki pumped in time with his thrusts. 

When he let go to slide his hand up Thranduil’s pale and flawless chest, he got a moan of protest. ‘Faster, now.’ Loki picked up the pace incrementally, still stroking the skin. Thranduil looked at him. ‘Come here.’ Loki leaned down into a kiss. 

Thranduil took hold of Loki’s buttocks and pushed him in harder. Loki became suddenly acutely aware of his own arousal, and gasped into the kiss, thrusting hard and fast. They rocked together, the bed creaking obscenely. Thranduil grabbed the headboard and cried out as Loki took hold of his cock again, stroking him as he pressed his forehead to Thranduil’s shoulder and climaxed with intense pleasure. 

It was over, and Loki flopped down next to his partner. The only noise was their laboured breathing. 

‘You are worried about tomorrow,’ Thranduil said eventually. 

‘I am worried I won’t have the strength to leave.’ 

‘You will.’ Thranduil sounded so certain, Loki turned his head to look at him. Thranduil merely smiled, lifting his hand and touching Loki’s cheek with the back of it. ‘Trust me.’ 

He shifted so they could sleep while embraced, and Loki was lulled to sleep despite his restless mind. 

XXX 

All the Elves of the Grey Havens and the Mirkwood guards were gathered to watch the strangers leave. The poles that held lanterns at night along the docks were decorated with colourful ribbons, and all were clad in their finest garb. Lord Círdan’s people loaded the boat with the best supplies and gifts, since they had no idea how long the journey would take. 

Frigga was smiling brighter than Loki could remember her doing. Thor was much the same. Loki felt nothing but dread, but he tried to keep his face blank. 

The sun was shining, making the snow and white buildings almost blinding in their brilliance. Everything should be joyous, but Loki wondered if he should toss himself into the sea halfway out the bay. 

Thranduil gave him the same bow of farewell he gave the others. Loki had not expected more, though his body yearned for it. They then had to walk the gangplank to the ship. It was a beautiful vessel, almost vibrating with magic, and Loki had little doubt it might carry them home.

The three of them stood on the deck to watch the well wishers wave. Loki stood stiffly. He was watching Thranduil, who had his back to him while speaking to his son. Loki frowned as they embraced, wondering why they both seemed to be sad. 

After the embrace, Thranduil spoke quietly with Lord Círdan, ending the conversation with a bow. He then walked up the gangplank, and Loki watched dumbfounded as Thranduil bowed before them. 

‘Queen Frigga, I thank you for the invitation and graciously accept.’ 

‘I am overjoyed, King Thranduil,’ Frigga answered. 

‘King no longer,’ Thranduil said, but he was smiling. ‘A simple Lord Thranduil now. My son has received the crown.’ Loki glanced at the assembled throng and saw Legolas, his face sad but accepting, an autumn diadem clutched in his hands. 

‘What is going on?’ 

Thranduil stepped near and took his hand, turning to face the crowd and wave. His people were sad, but not surprised, and they sang their farewells. Loki wished he could translate the words. 

The sails magically let themselves down, the ropes unknotted themselves, and slowly the ship glided out. 

‘I do love it when I shock you a little,’ Thranduil said. Loki just stared at him, gripping Thranduil’s hand tightly lest he prove a phantom of Loki’s imagination. Thranduil took pity on him at last and gave him a soft kiss before explaining. ‘I believed my place was in Middle-Earth until the last of the Elves left for Valinor. You changed that. I feel young again, and I am ready to explore new worlds.’ 

‘But I am likely bound for prison-’ 

‘We shall see about that,’ Frigga cut in. Her smile was knowing, with a hint of challenge. She stood close enough to lean against Loki’s right shoulder while they watched the Grey Havens shrink as they passed out of the bay. Thranduil stood on his left, his arm around Loki’s waist. Thor was right next to Frigga, waving and grinning at the Elves. 

Loki felt cocooned, and was not afraid as the ship suddenly parted from its usual medium, ascending to the sky and beyond. 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra notes: The tapestry Loki looks at is of Ëarendil. 
> 
> Author's note: Thank you to everyone who has shown interest in this story. I had no idea this pairing had the drive to go this far. It has been an incredible process, with lots of doubt and probably too much research for a fanfic, but also lots of fun and surprises. I hope you don't hate me too much for the open ending. I just had to do my own version of sailing away at the end. :)


End file.
